


Make You Mine

by littlejedi



Category: Long Exposure (Webcomic)
Genre: M/M, Smut, Werewolf AU, it's like old timey times, this is honestly a gay little red riding hood tbfh, tw: gore
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-24
Updated: 2018-01-20
Packaged: 2019-02-06 05:39:05
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 39,285
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12810801
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/littlejedi/pseuds/littlejedi
Summary: Jonas lives the same mundane day over and over. Work, sleep, repeat.Until the day something drives him off the beaten path and into the secluded forest, where he meets a man who changes all that.But as villagers of neighboring towns begin to warn him of a creature that stalks the woods and terrorizes them, Jonas worries about the woodsman he's so strangely taken to.Werewolf AU





	1. Over the River & Through the Woods

**Author's Note:**

> ANOTHER AU! Title from "The Wolf" by SIAMES. This was inspired by some of Mars' halloween-y art. 
> 
> Read the Long Exposure Comic and if you wanna see awesome art become Mars' patron!

Jonas could spend countless days here by the brick stove, elbow-deep in kneading sticky, warm dough that smells of yeast and rosemary. The scent of sweet bread and sourdough baking over the fire is a needed break from the smells of the icy workshop beyond the doors of their small cottage, a workshop he knows he’ll be called to return to soon. But for a few blissful moments he loses himself as he kneads away, absentmindedly watching Sue teach his youngest foster siblings how to knit.

As expected he hears his name barked out, and he quickly shapes the bread and tosses it over the fire. Wiping his hands on a spare towel he discards the apron covered in flour and olive oil and tosses his other apron on. This one is far less pleasant to look at and even less pleasant to wear, stained with the various pinks and browns and reds and maroons from the insides of animals. He walks into the cold stone workshop, which doubles as their storefront, with his breath held tight. The cool blast which greets him undoubtedly smells like innards, and that initial wave is always the worst.

“There you are,” Dean’s words are as icy as the air, “we need you to scald and dehair. It’s the least you could do.” Every day is like this. Every day Dean will say something, an offhand comment about how he’d rather be baking, a murmured criticism of his inability to stomach the more violent parts of butchery, all little jabs at the idea that he’s so incredibly less than a man.

But he’s used to it. And he’d rather take the comments than do Sidney’s job of exsanguinating. Beautiful word to describe the act of causing an animal to bleed to death before your eyes, but Sid does seem to have a way of making it seem less brutal. He makes his way over to the pig hanging from the meat hook and begins to methodically work.

It’s different when he bakes. It’s explorative and creative. This is just the opposite, practiced and singularly-focused with no room for neither error nor imagination. Every day is like this, being the adopted son of a butcher. And, technically speaking, the village’s sheriff. But nothing much ever goes on in Sellwood.

Ever.

So sheriff seems a rather pointless title to him, for a town so sleepy and uneventful that the only crime ever reported was 11 years ago when Ms. Hastings thought her hand-woven baskets had been stolen, but in reality she had forgotten she’d put them in her barn loft.

What a life it is. Waking, eating, working, sleeping again. Rising with the sun and falling with it. Just once, Jonas thinks, he wants to stay up past sunset. He didn’t even know that a time called midnight existed until he was 14. Not once, in his entire 21 years of life, has he stayed up to look at the stars or listen to the chirping crickets. He slices, his hands careful but thoughts far away, wondering about how wet midnight dew on the grass would feel beneath him.

Dean’s head snaps up to survey his work, his eyebrows furrowing most likely in response to how slow Jonas is going. So he picks up a bit of speed, and Dean looks back down again. Jonas sighs, because it’s not like he’s incapable of going any faster. In reality, he could probably dehair and scald even the heftiest swine in under 7 minutes. But he’s taking his sweet time because he knows when he’s done Dean will tell him to clean up and head to Baybury to deliver goods.

It’s a fine town, really, it’s just that Baybury is so boring it makes Sellwood look like London or New York or Boston. And the people are fine too, just fine, especially the family he delivers goods to. The Clearys. Jonas is sure Dean always sends him instead of Sidney or Sue or any of the older foster children because Pastor Cleary’s daughter Madison is his same age and not yet betrothed.

The moment the knife clinks onto the table, signaling he’s finished, Dean says, “Good. Why don’t you go wash up and deliver the salted meats in the pantry to the Clearys?” just like he always does. Almost every day.

Sid makes a face at him from behind the deer she’s eviscerating and he swallows a laugh. The idea of being betrothed to Madison Cleary is about as appealing to him as being stuck with exsanguination duty for the rest of his days, but he just nods, taking any excuse to be away from the workshop and away from Dean.

The journey isn’t long, and it isn’t complex. In fact, the path is very nearly straight. Boring. Just like... everything. So when he tosses a cloak over his shoulders to protect him against the chilly November breeze and grabs the basket of breads and meats and jams, he hardly expects today to be any different than any other day.

And he makes his way into the woods.

Nearly halfway into his journey he shudders against the fall breeze, which seems more violent than usual today. Although the sun is high and bright in the cloudless sky the massive evergreens canopy over the little dirt path and make it impossibly cold. Jonas shivers again as the wind whips his cloak up and over his head, wrapping him in darkness. He stumbles as he tries to tug it from around his shoulders, dropping the basket of bread and meat to the ground in his struggle. A few moments and a few more awkward tugs later he’s free.

He laughs victoriously as he tears the fabric away from his head, but freezes instantly. A shadow, low and loping, moves through the underbrush.

It’s enormous. It could be a small bear, or a large wolf, or even a boar, but Jonas is not going to stick around to figure out what it is. Slowly he inches towards the basket, wincing as the unfastened cape falls from his shoulders to the forest floor with a dull thump.

There’s another rustle in the bushes and he freezes again, his heart pounding once and twice and a third time before he hears an almost inaudible growl make its way out of the brush. Yellow eyes appear in the darkness, narrowing at him as the guttural rumble becomes louder and instantly it feels like nighttime in the dark shade of the pines. He can barely take a breath in before he snatches the basket and turns to run, listening to a yowl and a snap of teeth behind him.

Jonas tears through the trees, away from the dirt path and deeper into the uncharted wood as his heart thunders in his ears. The corners of his eyes prick with tears brought on partly by his exhaustion but mostly by the overwhelming fear and adrenaline which courses through him like molten metal, searing in his chest. He splashes through a small creek, tripping on the rocky bank and slamming into the ground. A cloud of dust and pine needles waft into the air, momentarily blinding him as he takes the minute to attempt to slow his breathing.

He coughs and wheezes as the dirt settles, raising his eyes to frantically search the line of trees around him. It’s lighter here off the path, and the air seems warmer when shielded from the wind. Jonas sees no shadow, hears no growling or snapping, so he lets out a shaky breath and presses his cheek to the earth. He only lets himself pause for a minute before he hauls himself to his knees, picking up his shockingly still intact basket and rising to his feet.

All he sees is trees.

Dark, tall trees. Everywhere.

Turning and narrowing his eyes he searches back from where he came for any sign of the path, but it’s useless. Just more forest. Before he can fully panic, drop to the ground once more and wait patiently to die, he smells the faintest hint of smoke. Jonas perks up instantly, spinning a couple times before he can localize the smell and take off towards it. A small trail starts to appear, seemingly worn into the peat and grass over years of travel by some lonely walker. He follows it as it winds up a small knoll, down into a cool valley, and up once more over a flat plane lined with weeds and brambles.

A singular cottage stands against the trees, a thin pillar of smoke billowing from its stone chimney. It’s a cabin made of a soft brown wood, and he can smell the pine burning from the fire. White dandelions line the dying grass around it and thorny vines creep up it’s chimney, curling down and running along the soft thatch roof. It has the cutest little window with the sweetest little window box, overrun with what appears to be poison ivy. He pauses.

It seems a bit suspect, this cozy looking house out in the middle of nowhere. With its cute little window and innocent little door.

Its _too_ cozy. He swallows thickly and takes a deep breath, but just as he’s debating turning right back around and getting himself lost all over again a deep voice rises behind him.

“What the hell?” The words are so close. He whirls around, met with a broad chest. His eyes dart up at the woodsmen, across his long face and questioning arched brow, but quickly back down to the axe in his hand. Jonas makes a high-pitched, strangled noise and stumbles backwards.

“What’re you doin’ here? How did you find me?” The man demands, stepping closer and clutching at the logs cradled in his thick arm. He’s so tall, so physically imposing that when he looms over Jonas the sun disappears behind his head.

“I’m- I’m lost, I’m so sorry, please don’t- I’m going, I was already going-” Jonas is sinking, hunching down into himself before the woodsman’s eyes go wide. He unfurls his arm and lets he logs tumble to the earth with a heavy thud before he crouches, darting a hand out to grasp Jonas’ calf. Jonas inhales sharply and holds his breath, closing his eyes and counting the seconds before this probable psychopath does something like chop his leg off and devour it in front of him. Instead, the man’s touch is soft. He follows the woodsman’s gaze to the sizeable tear in the knee of his trousers.

“You’re hurt.”

Jonas hadn’t even noticed his injury, but now that his mind is on it he shudders at the ache. He dumbly responds, “Oh. I guess I am.”

“How did you do this.” It’s hardly a question, the words cold and detached.

“W-well... I fell by the creek, so maybe-”

“The _creek?_ How the hell did you wind up here from the creek?”

“I don’t know, I just followed the smell of smoke. I got lost running from some- some huge _thing_ back near my village and wound up here,” Jonas’ voice goes quiet at the end as the woodsman narrows his eyes, studying his face.

“If you fell at the creek this’ll get nasty. We gotta clean it. Come inside,” another demand, no requests made yet so far. How positively rude. Jonas grimaces.

“No, thank you. It’ll be fine. Like I said, I was just leaving.”

“You’re _what?”_

“Leaving.” Jonas emphasizes the syllables. The woodsman balks.

 _“_ I’m offerin’ you to come inside outta the cold, to use my supplies to clean you up, and you say no?” He doesn’t seem angry. More surprised. Maybe a little bit offended.

“You didn’t offer,” Jonas says firmly, crossing his arms, “you demanded.” The taller man starts to splutter at this, gesturing to himself, to Jonas, to Jonas’ knee, throwing his arms in the air as he makes a frustrated noise. He turns on his heel, scoops up his axe and makes it about 4 steps. Suddenly he stops, his large shoulder slumping in defeat as he sighs.

“Will you please come inside so we can clean that.” The words are obviously said through gritted teeth.

“Yes, since you asked so kindly. _Thank you,”_ Jonas says exaggeratedly. It takes just a moment, but when the woodsman turns around to look at him he’s got the strangest smirk on his face. He seems... amused. Jonas raises one eyebrow as the man scans his body quickly, up and down, sizing him up as Jonas shuffles uncomfortably. With a laugh under his breath he turns around, shaking his head and walking up towards the cottage. Jonas follows a far distance behind him.

“You’re a stubborn one Spots,” he says as they pass through the door.

“Oh,” Jonas can’t help but exclaim quietly once they get inside. The cottage is... well. It’s not the cleanest home he’s ever seen.

In fact, it’s probably the dirtiest. It’s an absolute pig sty. It smells like stale liquor and outdoors and man stink. Jonas can’t help but wrinkle his nose at the copious amount of filthy dishes strewn across the counters and the dirty butchery knives. The woodsman actually has a pelt- literally a freshly-skinned _pelt_ \- drying on the windowsill.

“Uh... yeah. Sorry. I wasn’t expectin’ guests,” He doesn’t sound apologetic in the slightest, but his cheeks do flush only slightly with what Jonas assumes is embarrassment.

“N-no, it’s not that bad!” He rushes to assure, lying through his teeth, and the man snorts.

“Nah, it is. Hell, I’m a bachelor, usually not sharin’ this place with anyone.”

“No lady of the house to keep you in check?” Jonas swallows as he eyes down what seems to be dirty laundry strewn across the dining table. The woodsman barks out a laugh unlike one he’s ever heard.

“Yeah, _no_.” What an odd response. Jonas brushes it off. Living out in the woods must make you a little odd. Or he may be out here because he’s odd. Either way, Jonas is ready to be patched up and away from this place, back in Sellwood. He’d even rather be in Baybury, for goodness’ sake. Anywhere away from the enormous, rude man and his grimy cottage. Why did he even agree to follow him in?

It’s because of the way the woodsman’s thick arms and amber eyes make the pit in his stomach flutter, but Jonas pushes that right down, continuing to pretend like he has no idea what possessed him to let the man lead him inside. They’re in the abysmally dirty kitchen, the woodsman hunched down to clatter through his cabinets. With a triumphant grunt that makes Jonas jump, the man pulls back and reveals to Jonas what he’d been digging for.

A jar of golden honey. Jonas tilts his head to the side in confusion.

“For your knee,” the woodsman explains like it’s obvious.

“Absolutely not,” he responds in a deadpan.

“What? This shit is great for wounds!”

“I already got chased by some thing here, I don’t want to get chased by a bear on my way back.”

“It’s this or I’m pourin’ beer on it.”

“I’ll take neither, thank you. If you have any gauze, I’ll just- _what_ are you doing?” Jonas’ voice spikes in pitch as the man rises quickly and in the blink of an eye has slipped his hands beneath Jonas’ armpits, lifted him, and plopped him down on the wooden counter. Jonas splutters a few incoherent words, going red with what he likes to think is anger.

“Just lemme do this! You’ll be outta here faster if I do,” the man says seriously, narrowing his eyes. Jonas narrows his own and crosses his arms defiantly. They stare at each other for a long moment.

“Y’know, Spots, I can do this all day. The sun’s gettin’ low out there, and I’m sure you don’t wanna walk home in the dark in case that bunny or squirrel or whatever chased you here shows up,” the woodsman says lazily.

“... Fine,” he grumbles finally, and the tall man nods like he knew Jonas would concede the whole time. Though his hands are gigantic and rough and marred with callouses, his fingers are surprisingly gentle when he rolls Jonas’ trouser leg over his knee and blots at the scrape. He dips his first two fingers in the jar and with a quick glimpse up at Jonas, begins to spread the honey across his knee.

“I hope this works,” Jonas whispers beneath his breath and the woodsman snorts.

“Don’t trust me, Spots?” He most certainly doesn’t. But he isn’t quite in the position to say that.

“I’ve just never heard of this. Honey. On an injury.”

“Yeah, old trick I learned. This bad boy,” he raises his clean hand and wiggles it, emphasizing a deep purple scar runs from the edge of his thumb to his wrist, “shoulda seen it. Thought I was gonna lose my damn finger. But slap some honey on that shit and it’s good to go.” Jonas is sure he’s gone slightly green, but the man isn’t looking. Instead, he’s wrapping the gauze around his leg carefully. He ties off the ends and with a satisfied noise he pulls his hands away.

“Done. Toldja it’d be fast,” he waggles his eyebrows and Jonas’ stomach does that thing again. The fluttering. He swallows to ignore it.

“Thank you, it feels... pretty good.” He pats the bandage, which isn’t expertly done but seems secure enough. He slides off the counter clumsily, bouncing on his injured leg a couple times for good measure. He looks up and catches the woodsman with a small smile. The man coughs immediately, nodding out the window.

“See, it’s gettin’ kinda dark. You gotta get goin’ home.”

“I d-don’t really know how to,” Jonas says meekly, and the man looks down in confusion. “I’m lost. Remember?”

“Oh! Yeah. Shit, yeah. Gimme a sec, I’ll get a coat.”

“No, no that’s not necessary, I can’t ask you to do that, you can just tell me the way back to Sellwood,” Jonas babbles, shaking his head. It’s no use. The woodsman has retreated to another room, away from Jonas’ view, and when he reappears he’s swathed in a heavy coat. He extends another coat to Jonas, looking at him up and down then frowning.

“Gonna be a little big, but it should do-”

“Thank you,” Jonas breathes and the man goes silent immediately. He looks at Jonas with confusion.

“Thank... me?”

“Yes. You have no reason to be so kind to me, but you have been. I wish there was some way to repay you,” The man’s eyes go soft in the quickly fading light.

“Nah, you don’t have to do that.”

“I do,” Jonas takes a step closer and he can hear the woodsman swallow. His amber eyes widen only slightly and flicker down Jonas’ face. “But I don’t- oh! How could I be so stupid!” Jonas pushes past the man, back to the entryway where he’d dropped his basket. He shuffles back into the kitchen, beaming and holding it up. The man is still slightly red.

“What is it?”

“Bread. And meat. I’d like you to take it.”

“No, Spots, I can’t.”

“Please. It’s all I have to thank you for helping me,”

“Help?” the man snorts, waving his hands “Really, I didn’t do-”

“Take. The. Bread.” Jonas hisses, his eyes narrowing once more.

“Okay, shit,” he answers quickly, holding his hands up and letting Jonas place the basket on the counter. “I’ll take the food, but we need to get goin,’ it’s late. You said Sellwood, yeah?” Jonas nods, following the woodsman out of the warm cottage and into the chilly air. The sky is darkening, the first hints of stars emerging as the chill in the air grows more biting. Jonas shivers as he catches sight of his breath in the air.

“Are you okay?”

“What?” Jonas blinks.

“Are you okay?” The woodsman repeats. “You shivered. Are you warm enough?”

What a kind question to ask. He’s never been asked that before.

“Oh, yeah. I’m fine,” he says hurriedly. His stomach flips when the man nods, looking satisfied before he starts off into the forest. Jonas stays close behind him, stumbling along and following carefully in the larger man’s footsteps. It’s silent for a bit, air filled by the sounds of the crickets beginning to emerge and the bats squealing softly.

“So,” the man starts, then pauses. “I got some bread outta this whole deal?”

“And meat.”

“Oh yeah,” the man grunts. “What kind?”

“Venison.”

“Shit, really? Must’ve been someone important you were deliverin’ to.”

“Kind of, I guess. He’s a pastor in Baybury.”

“Oh. Cleary.”

“Yeah,” Jonas perks up, “You know him?”

“Unfortunately.”

Jonas has no idea to respond, so he snaps his mouth shut. They’re silent until the creek, where the woodsman crosses it with an easy stride of his long legs. Jonas stays on the opposite bank, staring down at the dark, cold water.

“You can make it,” the man urges, extending a long arm to Jonas. Tentatively, Jonas places his hand in the taller man’s. His eyes lock on the long fingers which curl firmly around his own, his freezing digits immediately warm in the woodsman’s grasp. “Jump,” he urges, and when Jonas does he finds himself being yanked through the air to the other bank. They both stumble as they collide, but it’s filled with laughter. Jonas isn’t exactly sure why he’s laughing, but he is, harder and with more emotion than he has in some time.

“I wish you could’ve been here when I was running,” Jonas giggles as they continue to push through the thicket, “I went straight through the creek.”

“Holy shit, you didn’t,” The man laughs in disbelief, tossing his head back with guffaws when Jonas nods through his own laughter. “That bunny you ran from musta really scared ya, huh?”

“Jerk,” he sticks his tongue out at the man, “believe me, it was not a bunny.”

“I know, I’m fuckin’ with ya. What do you think it really was? A boar?”

“It... I don’t even _know._ It had the strangest growl, and it snapped at me when I ran and I swear it had these glowing yellow eyes.” Jonas shakes his head and glances up at the woodsman. His eyes are hard and his face is distant, the hint of confusion tugging at his brow. Jonas tries to follow his gaze, but all he sees is forest.

“That sounds scary,” he says finally, “guess I should walk all the way back with you.”

“Oh,” Jonas says, strangely more excited than he feels he should be. He looks down and notices the dirt of his familiar path beneath his feet, in the distance the lamps of Sellwood’s town hall flicker. Politeness takes the better of him, though. With a sigh of defeat, out of the sake of graciousness, he says, “That’s so kind... but you really don’t have to.”

“I want to,” The answer is fast, followed by the woodsman shutting his mouth quickly. He starts again, just as rapidly. “I want to because if this big thing’s as you say, I can’t have you out here gettin’ hurt again.”

“I dunno... you had plenty of honey left,” Jonas teases, nudging the man’s side. His broad shoulders relax slightly and he breathes out a small laugh. Abruptly, the woodsman stops, causing Jonas to run into his back with an “Oof!”

He opens his mouth to question, but only a small squeak emerges when he peeks around the man’s arm. In the middle of the path, in a sad pile of shreds, is his cloak.

What’s left of it.

He swallows as they inch closer. The spit, frothy and stained pink, is still wet on the edges of the tears, and Jonas makes a noise of disgust. The dirt round the cloak is torn-up too, deep claw marks impressed into the soil. He clutches the man’s arm as they pass it.

“Stay close, it’ll be a’right,” the man says, and Jonas appreciates the effort, but his voice wavers a bit. Still, he does as he was urged and sticks so close to the woodsman his nose is practically bumping the back of his arm. Jonas notices, as they grow closer to town and the woods grow sparser, the man sticks to the tree line and away from the dying light of the sun. He stops, at the border of where the dirt turns to cobblestone and the lanterns from town shine with a warm yellow glow, and turns to Jonas.

“Well, Spots, this is you... Ain’t it?”

“Yup... little one up there with the shed.”

“Mm,” the woodsman hums, still staring down at him. Something is hanging in the air between them, perhaps something that needs to be said, but Jonas can’t put his finger on it.

“Thank you again,” he says, desperate for anything to stretch their conversation further.

“Was nothin’,” the man says, bringing a large hand up to rub at the back of his neck.

“No, you really went out of your way to help me out. No one’s ever been so nice to me."

“Nah, it was a nice walk.” His smile drops slowly. “You gonna be careful out here with that big thing on the loose?”

“Yeah,” Jonas trails off, staring at the long path up to his cabin.

“But if ya need some company on the walk, you know who to call for,” The man waggles his eyebrows and grins, his face causing Jonas to break out into giggles.

“You know, I actually _don’t._ ”

“Don’t?”

“Don’t know who to call,” he clarifies, “I don’t know your name.” The woodsman’s eyes flicker over his face, searching for a long second before he speaks.

“Mitch. Mueller.”

“Nice to meet you. Thank you, Mitch.”

“Yer welcome, Spots,” Mitch grins wider, “I bet you gotta real name too, huh? Unless I was right guessin’ Spots.”

“Not even close,” Jonas giggles. “Goodnight.”

“Wait!” Mitch’s hand darts out to grab his arm. Jonas turns his head back. “Your name,” Mitch says with conviction, the whites of his eyes shining as the sunset turns purple behind him.

“I’ll tell you next time,” Jonas tries to sound confident and coy, but his voice breaks slightly. Mitch’s eyebrows rocket upwards.

“Next time?”

“Yes, well... I’m gonna need my basket back,” he says with a small smile. Mitch’s smirk returns.

“Yeah. I guess you will,” he slides his hand off Jonas’ arm. “Till next time then.”

“Till next time. Goodnight, Mitch.”

“Goodnight, Spots,” he hears called behind him as he turns and heads up the path towards his home. The sunset is inching from purple to navy as he pushes through the front door. Trying desperately to be quiet, he toes his shoes off in the entryway and avoids the squeaky floorboards to the left of the doorjamb. He hears a rustle in the dining room and heavy footsteps thunder through the small downstairs.

"Jonas, where in God's name have you been?" Dean's voice is the loudest he could possibly be without waking the foster kids. Jonas swallows the dry lump in his throat.

"I'm sorry, I was in Baybury," he lies with surprising ease.

"Of course you were, I'm not an idiot," Dean rolls his eyes, "why were you there so late?"

"Pastor Cleary held an afternoon service," lies, all lies, but sounding convincing. "Maddie invited me."

"Oh... And you went? Together?"

"Yes," where is this coming from? He hopes it never stops. "We enjoyed our time so much they want me to come back tomorrow."

"Oh," Dean says again, the tautness in his hands relaxing. "That's good. Very good."

"Yup," Jonas quips. He stands rigidly in the living room as Dean narrows his eyes, scrutinizing him.

"You need to rest then, because we'll wake up early to prepare some hens for their dinner. The Clearys are a good family, Jonas," Dean starts like he's about to lecture about how old Jonas is getting, how he'll need to start a family soon, how Maddie Cleary would make a very fine wife, but shockingly he just nods. Jonas doesn't press the issue, instead bidding him goodnight and bounding up the stairs past the second level into the attic. His bedroom is warm despite the chilly air outside, all the heat from the dying fire downstairs risen and trapped in his little nook.

Though his bed takes up most of the floor and the ceiling is barely high enough for him to stand upright, Jonas is thankful to have a place separate from the family and all his own, away from everyone.

He stares out the window for a while, watching the sky go from navy to black as the final stars emerge, and finds his mind wandering back to the woods. He wonder what the woodsman, Mitch, is up to. Hopefully he made it home safely. Maybe he really will see him again. It couldn't hurt to visit again after he drops off food for the Clearys.

Besides, he does need his basket back. He tells himself it's the only reason he wants to go back as he falls asleep.

Someone is in his dream. He can feel their hands on him, sliding up and down the soft curves of his sides from where he sits. Jonas grips his hands around the wood countertop and squeezes his eyes shut tighter, inhaling as he feels a hand slip up the back of his shirt. His thighs quiver slightly as he feels hot breath against the exposed stretch of skin on his stomach, jut above the fastener of his trouser, which is being tugged at.

"You okay, Spots?" And _oh,_ it's him. And there's that question again.

"Yes," Jonas breathes out as he feels a hand slide around his torso to tweak at his nipple, caressing it slowly as he whines. Suddenly, there's a mouth against his, kissing at him with impatient fervor as he curls his arms around Mitch's shoulders. Mitch hums out a noise and pulls his arms away and ever so slowly guides him back, tilting him until he's laid out on the counter. Mitch kisses at his thigh and his stomach and is just a terrible tease, kissing every inch of him but neglecting the exact spot he wants so desperately. 

A needy noise escapes him when his trousers are unbuckled and slid down his thighs before he hears a voice coo, "Is this what you want?"

He can't say a word, unable to muster the breath to respond. More whines and sighs and moans as his pants are slid off and he's naked from the waist down. He feels Mitch nuzzle into the dark hair between his legs and kiss at his hard-on. Mitch only plays with him for a few fleeting moments, mouthing at his head, wrapping fingers around his base, stroking slow and even. And then his mouth moves down, lapping at Jonas' sac greedily. Lower then, over his perineum, and Jonas' back arches violently.

Mitch chuckles from between his thighs as his tongue continues down, further, until it finds its destination and Jonas cries out as it swipes over him. He feels exposed and filthy and tense as Mitch's tongue works him, causing his vision to go white. His ears ring with pleasure, eyes still squeezed shut and fingers woven tightly into Mitch's hair. Mitch's long hands pet his thighs as his tongue carries Jonas towards the edge. All he can feel is the warmth and the slickness and the persistence of it against his entrance.

"Mitch, Jonas gasps, gripping his hair tightly.

 _"Mitch,"_ again, but this time with the edge of a desperate whine in his voice.

"Oh God, _Mitch!"_ Jonas bolts immediately upright, painfully aware of how awake he is and the uncomfortable clenching and unclenching in his pelvis. He shifts uneasily and groans, feeling the slick mess on the inside of his pants and dropping his face into his hands.

It's white-hot with shame and embarrassment. He can't believe he's just had such a dream about a _man._ That he met _today._ That he barely spent more than _an hour or two with_. He groans at himself, at his loneliness and ignorance. It's pathetic, really, that he's so starved for touch that he could stoop to such a dream about that dirty, rude, woodsman with a prisoner's vocabulary. How sad.

Jonas rubs his fists against his face hard, trying to massage away any lingering thoughts as his breathing steadies and the shame settles deeper into a pit in his gut. Embarrassed and messy he huddles back into bed and shuts his eyes, pretending nothing out of the ordinary had happened that afternoon. He wills himself to just forget Mitch, and the fluttering in his stomach, and the fact that he said himself that there would be a next time. There won't be, of course. That cottage in the woods had brought him into some sort of dreamland, where he let his foolish thoughts run free. That won't continue to happen back here in the home he grew up in. And he knows if he does go back to that cabin he'll go back to that dream, and lose himself, and he'll imply another next time. So no more cabin. No more leaving the path. No more woodsman.

No more Mitch.

But he does need that basket back.


	2. The Meadow

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Titanic voice) it's been 84 years
> 
> this is a LONG one too, ended up being longer than i expected! thank you always for reading!

Jonas, for once, is the first person awake and in the shed ready to work at daybreak the next morning. They have 2 boars, a buck, and a pig before they can get to work on the Cleary’s hen dinner. Jonas works with a fervor, his jobs finished with precision even before Dean can look up and tell him to pick up the pace. The shop is void of speech for the majority of the morning as they fly through their work. The boars are finished in an hour; cuts packaged and ready for preserving, bones already boiling for a stock, pelts stretched out to dry. The deer is the same. As Jonas wipes his knives down, preparing for the pig, Dean grunts.

“You’re working fast today.”

“Oh. Am I really? I hadn’t noticed,” he lies, staring hard at the blade and avoiding Dean’s eyes.

“Sidney and I can handle the buck. Go inside and help Sue finish the baking,” he’s heard this line before, but never in a way that didn’t make him flinch. Is he being... rewarded? “And make sure you make something special for the Cleary’s dinner.”

Ah. There it is. But in all truthfulness, he’ll take any excuse to get out of the workshop. As he passes, Sid shoots a confused look his way. All he can do is shrug and duck out into the sunshine, crossing the stone path into the kitchen. Sue is at the counter mixing a bowl of dry grains together, and she turns at the noise of the door.

“Just in time,” she singsongs, “I could use some help kneading.” Jonas nods in response, slipping the apron over his head and unbuttoning his sleeves to push them up. He knows he must look strange, staring into the dough like he is, but he’s lost in thought. The sounds around him begin to fade away.

Next time. _Why_ had he promised a next time? Further, _why_ does he want to make good on his promise? Why does he _want_ the next time to happen, why is he _itching_ for it so desperately? Is it simply because Mitch had been so kind to him?

Possibly.

But what kind of secluded hermit is that helpful and kind? What were his ulterior motives?

Jonas goes through them all. Money? Goods? There’s nothing, nothing he can think of that Mitch could have been trying to gain. He’d even tried to refuse the food Jonas offered him. Why would he be so kind without wanting anything in return?

Why is Jonas _thinking_ about him so much?

“Jonas?” He hears a voice question loudly. He jumps, turning towards Sue and plastering a polite smile on his face. Somehow, he feels she’d been calling his name for some time. “Are you feeling alright, dear?”

“Yup,” he says much too quickly. Sue pauses, staring up at him and raising an eyebrow.

“You seem a bit distracted,” she urges, and he just continues to smile. Sue is, by far, much kinder and more caring than Dean. But with her, it’s all surface. Her solution to any of their problems is to cluck her tongue, to shake her head, to hum out her sympathies. Which is more than he can say for Dean, really, but that doesn’t mean she’s particularly helpful or invested.

“I think I’m just in shock Dean actually told me to come in here,” he deadpans, and she laughs. And, thankfully, that’s the end of it. More silence settles between them, punctuated by the chattering of his foster siblings and the whistle of the wind outside. When they’re turning the last loaf in the oven, Dean and Sidney are making their way in, kicking off their soiled shoes on the stone patio. As usual, Dean pipes up about Jonas cleaning up and going to deliver the Cleary’s goods, but when he nods in concession and makes his way up to the attic, he feels someone following him.

Glancing back, he sees his sister trailing close to his heels. Once the door to his bedroom is securely shut, she plops down on the mattress.

“Dude. What _was_ that?” Sid hisses, and Jonas just shakes his head.

“Your guess is as good as mine.”

“Seriously, he actually told you to go to the kitchen. He let you go early, too. He almost complimented you,” she leans forward with each word, mimicking him and shaking her own head, “What is going on?”

“Beats me, but I’m just glad it is,” he shrugs, “It’s probably because I told him the Clearys invited me to dinner tonight.”

“They did?”

“Yeah.” What? Oh God, he’s lying. Why is he lying to Sidney? Why did that lie slip so easily out of his mouth?

“Bummer.” She believes it, sweet merciful Lord in Heaven she believes it. “When are they gonna clue in to the fact that you would rather eat a box of rusty nails than marry Maddie?”

“C’mon, Sid, she’s not... _that_ bad.”

“Yes she is, dude, she’s terrible.”

“I know. But it’s just dinner, I’ll survive.” His limbs feel like they’re vibrating with nerves. He’s lying to Sid, something he’s never done or even thought of doing in his entire life. He doesn’t know why he’s not telling her about Mitch, he was nothing but helpful, but a fleeting voice inside his head tells him it’s better this way. So he listens, and continues to get ready for this ‘dinner’ he’d so elaborately created.

In reality he has no actual _plan._ He’s committed to this dinner idea now that Dean knows, and he really does need to bring good to the Clearys because he missed yesterday but....

Is he really, _really_ still attached to the idea of seeing Mitch again? Is that why his stomach is turning so anxiously? Last night he had only just reserved himself to the idea that there would be no ‘next time,’ and he had intended to stick to that idea. But he’s given himself a gap, whether accidentally or on purpose he’s not fully sure, between giving the Clearys their food and coming home after dinner time. It’s a long gap, too, much longer than he’d want to spend with the pastor’s family.

Sidney flops backwards on his bed, arms spread and heels bouncing against the mattress as she stares up at the ceiling while he scrubs his hands. When his clothes are changed and his face is clean he reaches up to the side of his armoire where he’d hung Mitch’s big wool coat up and swings the garment over his shoulders.

“ _What_ is that?” his twin snorts, and he turns around.

“What?”

“That jacket! You look ridiculous!” Jonas goes red, more hurt than he expected, and pushes the long sleeves over his wrists.

“I didn’t think it looked that bad...” He mumbles, and his sister shakes her head.

“No, no, I mean it doesn’t it’s just- where did you even get it?” She’s chuckling, thank God, not suspicious in the slightest, but he starts to sweat regardless.

“My cloak got lost,” he says hastily, turning to leave his room and start down the stairs, “one of the clergymen loaned me it.” He almost laughs at himself as he says it, because imagining Mitch as a man of the cloth sounds as ridiculous as he looks. Sid is close on his heels, shaking her head with the last of her giggles.

Just as he steps out the door into the chilly air, goods in hand, Sid calls “Be safe!” behind him. Frozen for a moment, Jonas looks down into the woods, to the dark trees and brush concealing whatever might be in there, whatever he might have seen yesterday.

Well. If it comes back, he knows who to call. He licks his chapped lips and presses them into a hard line to fight his smile as he starts down the path.

The fences of Baybury appear down the road in no time, and though his heart had beaten wildly the entire walk he kept his head down and powered on. The gate squeaks as he pushes through it, alerting a few sleepy farm animals who watch him tread down the cobblestone towards the church. Maddie is outside, bundled up in layers of fabric, crouched down to tend to the plants in the bed. She hears his footsteps and turns, smiling.

“Good afternoon, Jonas!” Her voice is sugary and excited, and he feels almost guilty for a moment. “Where were you yesterday?”

“We had, um... a little accident down at the workshop, needed to be tended to.”

“An accident?” she lays a gloved hand over her heart.

“Oh, nothing too serious,” he says dismissively. She cocks an eyebrow

“Well then I don’t know why you couldn’t have at least stopped by,” she turns her nose up and goes back to her gardening, and any guilt he felt is instantly gone.

“I brought some extra bread and hens today to make it up to you,” he says, his voice pinched. Maddie stands then, a satisfied smile on her face as she takes the goods from his hands and starts up the steps to the church.

“Would you like to come inside?” she asks over her shoulder. He bristles slightly at the invitation. It’s always the same with the Clearys, they’re kind enough but their holier-than-though air is nearly unbearable, especially when Mrs. Cleary talks about what a good mother Maddie will make ‘when the right fellow will commit.’

“Actually,” he says before he can think, “I need to meet someone. Tell your father I said hello.” A giddy sort of excitement rises in his chest as he turns on his heel, leaving a balking Madison Cleary on the steps as he makes his way back towards the woods. He’s practically bouncing by the time he hits the halfway point, staring at the ground to look for something, some indication to tell him where exactly he’d started running-

Then he trips, falling stomach-first into the dirt, and glances down at his feet. A big gouged-out mark, surrounded by other smaller ones. He catches himself grinning, then bites his lip hard. In all seriousness, he should be absolutely _terrified_ by the prospect that a creature capable of creating that kind of mark is on the loose and has most likely developed a taste for him after making his cloak an afternoon snack yesterday.

But he’s still grinning, despite how hard he’s trying not to. Stumbling to his feet he brushes she dust from Mitch’s jacket and turns, walking bravely into the woods, any memory of a creature and a chase far off in the back of his mind. He walks, and walks, and walks more, searching for the smell of smoke or the rush of the creek.

It doesn’t look at all familiar, but that makes perfect sense, he assures himself over and over. He was running, he didn’t have time to pay attention to his surroundings. Right? Of course!

Ugh.

_Ugh._

Lost again. Jonas makes a frustrated noise in the back of his throat. He should be right near the creek, and from there he’d be able to find his way... probably. A bird squawks from the treetops and he looks up, squinting at the sun. It’s still above him, meaning he has time. Plenty of time to figure out where he is. Which he can totally do. Picking his chin up, straightening, he marches on into the forest, pushing through the ferns which brush at his thighs. His confidence immediately pays off when he hears a bubbling, the rush of water, and he brightens. He bursts through a few heavy pines, grin falling from his face when he comes across a creek which is not the one he’d encountered yesterday. It’s easily twice as wide and looks three times as deep, with no way to bypass it.

“Okay, _really?”_ He growls beneath his breath.

“Y’know, it’s ‘cuz ya didn’t call me.”

Until the day he dies, Jonas Wagner will deny the fact that he _shrieked_ when a low voice spoke up from somewhere behind him. Frantically he spins, catching sight of Mitch’s tall form emerging from the pines he’d pushed through.

“You jerk! How did you find me?” He pushes a hand against his chest, trying to calm the pounding of his heart, which he tells himself quickly is just from the surprise.

“Heard ya. Decided to follow you and see if you’d make it,” Mitch shrugs, a smirk playing on his lips.

“Followed me,” he clarifies, cocking his head, and Mitch nods. “For how long, exactly?”

“Hm. Maybe, shit, 10 minutes?”

“10 minutes?!” Jonas yelps, and Mitch tosses his head back with a rough cackle. “You could’ve helped, you know!”  
“I dunno. Don’t think I coulda.”

“Oh? And why not, exactly? You seem to know your way around here.”

“Yeah,” Mitch steps closer, looming over him, “But I didn’t know what to yell to get your attention.”

“I see. Well yesterday you seemed to like ‘Spots,’” Jonas counters, a small smile playing on his lips as Mitch chuckles.

“Y’know, I was thinkin’ maybe yesterday you were just grouchy, but you’re just as sassy today.” Jonas scoffs, pretending to be hurt.

“I am not sassy,” he protests, crossing his arms. “Now will you get me... un-lost?”

“Sure. What’s yer name?”

“Is that your fare?” Jonas laughs incredulously, cheeks starting to strain from trying to contain his giddiness.

“Damn right. Now spill.” Mitch folds his thick arms over his chest, arching one of his dark eyebrows. It would almost be intimidating if Mitch didn’t have that dopey smile and faint blush playing on his face.

Almost.

Jonas absolutely, positively cannot help the wide grin which splits his face as he breaks, starting to giggle. Though Mitch doesn’t falter, his eyes seem to soften just a bit.

“Fine, since you’re so insistent... It’s Jonas. Wagner.”

“Jonas,” Mitch repeats, rolling his head from side to side. “Why the fuck didn’t I think that? Of course it is. Look at’cha, you’re totally a Joey.”

“You’ve been thinking about it?” Jonas’ eyebrows rocket up, but Mitch still isn’t looking at him, staring upwards and running a hand over his scruffy chin.

“Yeah but all my guesses were shit. I kinda thought somethin’ like Alexander-” Jonas makes a theatrical shocked noise. “Okay, okay, I know,” Mitch says, grining sheepishly and rubbing the back of his neck, finally looking down at him. “I was way off.”

“But... you _were_ thinking about it?” Jonas’ cheeks are on fire, his heart thundering his chest as Mitch’s smile slowly falls, his amber eyes going wide as the blush on his cheeks becomes redder by the second.

“Wait- no-”

“You were!” Jonas claps both hands over his mouth, concealing his laughter, feeling foolish and ridiculous and so incredibly delighted by the way his stomach turns.

“Hey, a’right, you were the one who came lookin’ for me, Spots,” Mitch protests, but his face is still bright red. “You wanna get un-lost or not?”

“I do. I definitely do, I’m sorry,” Jonas shudders out his remaining laughter and holds his hands up in surrender. Mitch grunts, shaking his head, face down, before he nods towards a small hill and starts towards it. Jonas takes a few fast steps to catch up with him then falls into stride, close to his side.

“Where are we going?” He asks, and Mitch falters for a step.

“Uh, damn. Good question. I guess I was plannin’ on takin’ ya back to my place but you didn’t seem too impressed yesterday.” He nudges Jonas’ arm with his shoulder.

“Don’t think that, I was!” Jonas insists, but Mitch just continues on.

“Yeah, right. I got an idea,” Mitch hums, long legs striding easily through the decaying leaves. Jonas stays alongside him, following closely. It’s unusual for him to throw all caution to the wind and just trust Mitch completely, follow him without question, or trek into the unfamiliar woods at the possibility of seeing him. Because Mitch is a stranger, truthfully, no matter how easy he is to talk to. No matter how kind or sincere he seems, Jonas has no idea who he really is. If he’s manipulative, or cruel, or violent, or even murderous Jonas has no way to know; he hasn’t the faintest clue. But Mitch doesn’t seem any of those things and frankly Jonas doesn’t care if he is. He wants to be here with Mitch, so he is going to be here with Mitch.

It’s almost an entirely unfamiliar feeling. He does things for Dean, he follows directions from Sue, he keeps on the Cleary’s schedule, but now?

He feels as if he’s doing something for himself. For the first time since... well, ever he supposes. It feels nice. Odd and foreign but very much nice. Mitch slings an arm over his shoulders, nodding at a bulbous mushroom in the ground and making a crude joke, and Jonas smiles a very real smile.

And that feels nicest of all.

Well, of course it absolutely pales in comparison to how really _really_ nice Mitch’s arm feels around him, large bicep pressed into his shoulder and wrist rubbing absentmindedly against his arm, but it’s all relative, isn’t it?

They walk for only a short bit until Mitch ducks, guiding him beneath a large fallen oak propped up against an outcropping of rock and into a wide, expansive field. It’s framed by tall ferns swaying gently in the cool breeze, the wild grasses long and untamed and spotted by the last few weedy flowers which have yet to die off in the cold. The big, rushing river they’d walked alongside cuts through the green, it’s banks rocky and littered with the season’s first fallen leaves. Mitch takes a few strides and plops down on the large spread of flat granite, the stone glittering under the fall sun and covered with soft, bouncy moss.

Jonas is still, immobile. He watches a buck wander along the outskirts of the field, bending to nibble at the long grasses as a noisy flock of geese pass overhead. He looks up, watching them, squinting against the sun in a sky which seems impossibly clear and blue.

“I mean, I know it ain’t nothin’ really special but I guess I just thought you’d like-”

“Wow,” Jonas breathes, silencing Mitch’s babbling. “I... wow.” Mitch just laughs, leaning back on his large hands as Jonas slides down next to him. They’re silent for a while, watching the water course down it’s path, watching fish and turtles wiggle their way through the current, before Mitch shifts, turning to him.

“I didn’t really expect I’d be seein’ you again.”

“Oh. I’m sorry. I-I’m sorry you had to come find me and everything,” Jonas says softly, feeling his ears start to heat up as Mitch’s eyes widen and his big hands starts to wave.

“No no! No! I wanted to! I just didn’t expect you’d actually....” he trails off quickly, his eyes darting over Jonas’ face.

“I am a man of my word, Mitch Mueller,” Jonas says shortly, breaking into a smile when Mitch snorts. “You were so helpful and... I really feel as if I still need to repay you, I guess. I wish there was some way I could.”

“No way Joey. That shit you gave me? Fuckin’ awesome.”

“Oh... it was nothing.” he’s blushing. Why is he blushing? So much blushing, too much, all Mitch did was compliment his bread. Pull it together, Jonas.

“You _made_ that?” The astonishment in Mitch’s voice has him going even redder and Jonas could yell, because he has no chance of pulling it together. He probably looks like such an awkward fool, stumbling over his words with his eyes cast down to avoid Mitch’s face, red as a strawberry from his neck to his forehead.

“Yeah. I like to bake. I know it’s kinda lame,” he laughs self-depreciatingly.

“What? No it ain’t! It’s goddamn impressive!” He finally manages to lift his eyes, swallowing as Mitch grins, face alight in the afternoon sun.

“Well, thanks. You’re... the only one who seems to think so. If you like, I could bring you some more. To repay your kindness,” Jonas finishes quickly. Mitch hums.

“If you wanna. But your- your company’s nice, too,” he blurts hastily. Jonas can do nothing but nod and smile, swallowing the giddy laughter that wants so badly to bubble up. “Whaddya mean, though? I’m the only one that thinks you can cook good?”

“Well, no. I guess... I guess everyone probably thinks so, they just don’t think it’s a very desirable talent. And an even worse hobby.”

“Who the hell would think that?”

“My- my father. We’re butchers, so baking is... yeah. Most people in my town, too.”

“They sound shitty,” Mitch says brusquely and Jonas can’t help but laugh.

“No, they’re not- ugh. Yeah, they kind of are.”

“S’why I left Baybury,” Mitch nods, staring into the water. “Buncha fuckin’ snooty Jesus freaks.”

“When did you leave?” Jonas asks, leaning in, and Mitch looks over to him.

“Lil’ while ago, why?”

“I-I deliver there, to the Clearys. I’ve never seen you,” Jonas swallows as Mitch groans, his eyebrows coming together.

“The Clearys. They’re the worst of ‘em. Fuckin’ Maddie,” he shakes his head, running one of his big hands through his dark, dirty hair.

“Don’t get me started. Our families want me to marry her.”

“Oh God damn, Joey, _no._ ”

“Please, you don’t have to tell me twice. Absolutely not. Never.” Jonas is laughing again, soft chuckles which disappear beneath Mitch’s cackles. Mitch leans back then, laying down on the granite with his big arms beneath his head. His eyes are closed, lids squinting tightly against the bright sun, and Jonas is staring.

Really staring. And yeah, now Jonas is pretty confident he’s figured out why he wasn’t able to stop thinking about Mitch.

In a strange kind of way, Mitch is... very beautiful. Rough and filthy, but enamoring in a sort of way Jonas has never really experienced. And he’s _really staring_. Hasn’t looked away from the swell of Mitch’s bicep, the curve of his jaw beneath that scruff, the smooth and pale expanse of skin between his shirt and pants divided by a trail of soft-looking dark hair. His eyes trace its path from where it emerges from the dirty fabric of Mitch’s tunic and down, into the hem of his pants which hang impossibly low on his hips, and-

“-you did.”

Oh God, has Mitch been talking to him the whole time? Jonas’ heart thumps with panic as he coughs and clears his throat.

“Wait, w-what? I zoned out, I’m sorry,” he says meekly. Mitch doesn’t move, just smiles slightly.

“I, uh... I said that even though I didn’t expect to see ya, I’m glad I could.” Mitch’s eyes stay closed and Jonas swallows. He flops onto his back, his head near Mitch’s on a soft patch of peat, and tries the hardest he can to keep his voice from wavering.

“Yeah. Me, too.”

They fall into a routine like this. Each day, he leaves Maddie on the church steps and makes his way into the forest, calling Mitch’s name to spend the day together before Mitch walks him back to Sellwood as the sun sets.

Jonas’ life has always been routine, planned, managed- but this is different. His routine with Mitch is exhilarating. His heart picks up and his palms begin to sweat as he takes his first few steps into the forest each day and calls Mitch’s name. Miraculously he’s there, every time without fail, with a big dumb smile and a gangly arm to toss around Jonas’ shoulders. He always seems to appear from nowhere, like somehow he knew Jonas was there. Sometimes Jonas lets himself fantasize that Mitch waits for him.

Sometimes meaning most every day.

Because if Jonas is being honest with himself, Mitch brings meaning to his days. He makes him feel this completely novel kind of excitement. In a few short weeks, he’s shown Jonas an entire world he never knew existed, one in which he can be... happy.

The world with Mitch is exploratory. When the weather permits they stay in the meadow or wade ankle-deep on the banks of the river and watch the salmon. But Jonas’ favorite days are the days when the air is too chilly and biting to explore the forest, so they stay inside in the comfortable warmth of Mitch’s tiny cabin.

Which, thank God, Mitch has at least attempted to tidy up.

They talk, he teaches Mitch to knead, Mitch teaches him to stitch, they trade stories. He cherishes their days spent inside. Something about the comfort of the cabin makes Mitch feel open, maybe even safe or protected, enough so to share things. On one of those days, they stand side-by-side in the kitchen as Jonas teaches Mitch to properly fillet his latest trap.

“You want to hold the knife like this,” he turns his wrist as Mitch watches, looming over his shoulder, “not like this. Got it?”

“Think so.”

“Okay, try it,” Jonas goads, guiding Mitch’s hand along the cut. “Perfect. It’s as easy as that.”

“Yeah, easy. I’m just gonna leave that up to you,” Mitch snorts, wiping his hands on a soiled cloth.

“If you say so,” Jonas smiles. “I can do that. These are pretty nice knives, too, but don’t think I didn’t notice.”

“Notice what?”

“The carvings. ‘FM’ are _not_ your initials,” Jonas nods down at one of the blades, the letters hacked into the handle. Mitch hums out a soft laugh.

“Mm. They were a gift.”

“A gift you were given, or a gift you took?” Jonas teases, and Mitch chuckles again.

“Little bit of both I guess. They were my brother’s. He gave me a couple and then... then I inherited the rest. My mom gave me all his tools when he died.” Mitch is staring down at the knife; the same one he’s been wiping down with the rag for the last few minutes. Jonas exhales a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding.

“I’m so sorry...”

“It was a long time ago,” Mitch nods. “Freddie. Kinda been a long time since I said his name.” He keeps nodding, like he’s trying to feign that this all makes sense, but Jonas can hear the hurt in his voice. He lays a hand on Mitch’s bicep, but can’t think of any words to say, so he just keeps his hand there and watches Mitch’s face. The taller man finally looks over, his face pained for a moment before it relaxes. Then his lips turn up into a small smile.

“Wipe yer hands down Spots. You’re even dirtier than me right now.” He grins when Jonas gasps in exaggerated offense. Jonas steals the rag away nonetheless, wiping his hands down and watching Mitch’s back as he fumbles through the cabinets.

And Jonas is happy.

Really happy. Elated. Sure, he feels the slightest twinge of guilt leaving in the morning, knowing Sid and Sue and Dean think he’s with the Clearys. But all that dissipates when Mitch emerges from the trees every day and sets his heart pounding.

It’s not just when he’s with Mitch, either; it’s impossible to keep Mitch out of his thoughts and even harder to keep him out of his dreams. His dreams are the only place he lets himself want Mitch- and he does, desperately. But Jonas never lets himself think this; it only emerges when he sleeps. He dreams of the feeling of Mitch’s lips, the taste of him, the heat of his breath, his arms around him, the softness of his skin and firmness of his muscles.

He wishes it was just desire, but it isn’t. It’s so much more than that. Mitch is kind, and gentle, and understanding. He thinks Jonas is funny. He thinks Jonas is interesting. He thinks it’s shitty how Dean treats him. He thinks Jonas deserves better than the Clearys, and he says this. All of it. Mitch is honest and candid, sometimes brutally so, and it’s refreshing.

Mitch treats him in a way he’d never expected. He seems to really, truly enjoy Jonas’ company, and what’s even sweeter is he bends to Jonas’ every beck and call. Sometimes he’ll pout or curse or protest what Jonas has asked him, but he always does it, and always with a little smile playing on his lips.

Jonas loves that smile. It makes his heart sing, and also hurt just the slightest bit, because he knows he’s living in a dream land. Mitch is strong, rough, independent and Jonas is... a dreamer. He doesn’t even let himself entertain the thought that Mitch might feel something for him, and especially not to the degree that Jonas feels about him. He’s content with just desiring Mitch in secret, because he still gets to spend time with him. Especially now that the weather is getting colder, fall just beginning to turn to winter, when they’re usually inside.

Today, though, they elect to sit in the grass of the meadow in the chilly air, Jonas watching the birds migrate with his knees pulled up to his chest and his arms wrapped around them. Mitch’s big jacket is draped over his shoulders, wrapping him in the smell of warmth and tobacco and also just a little bit of woodsy grossness. But Jonas has grown to love that stink.

Mitch has one of his knives out, carving lazily at a hefty stick he’d found near the bank of the river. With one last, long stroke of the blade, he grins and turns to Jonas.

“Tada,” he sings, goofy and loud, and Jonas tosses his head back with laughter so hard he snorts.

“What is it?” Jonas asks, still snickering and reaching out to pluck it from between Mitch’s long fingers. He turns it in his hand, the blade marks smooth and careful, exposing the lighter wood from beneath a thick and rough bark. He places a finger against the sharp tip and pulls back, hissing and shaking his hand out.

“It’s a stake thing. For stabbin’. Can stab yer shitty dad. Or that fucker- Niles?”

“Neil,” Jonas snorts, weighing it in his palm and shaking his head, “right, like I could ever do any damage, even with this thing. And Neil’s not so bad anymore... he doesn’t have time to torture me. He’s got a wife to occupy his time now.” Jonas punctuates this with an eye roll.

“Sucks to be her,” Mitch hums, slumping down onto his back in the grass. He plucks a long stem and sticks it between his teeth, nibbling on the end. Jonas sighs, looking at his hands.

“Not even. Carmen’s- well... Carmen.”

“S’that s’posed to mean?” Mitch mumbles, rolling the long piece of grass between his teeth. Jonas stays silent, turning the homemade weapon over in his hands again and again. Mitch rises up to his elbows and looks over to him staring at the ground. “Oh.”

“What ‘oh?’” Jonas spits defensively, narrowing his eyes.

“You like her.” Mitch says it like an accusation. The words have a biting edge which makes him flinch. Jonas leans away from him, looking down at Mitch’s face. His eyes are staring hard at the woods, teeth clamped tight on the grass.

“No I don’t.” Jonas protests defensively.

“Yeah y’do,” Mitch bickers back. Jonas huffs.

“Not anymore.”

“Sure you don’t.”

“I _don’t_.”

“Whatever,” Mitch adjusts his shoulders, falling onto his back once more and closing his eyes tightly as he folds his arms behind his head. Jonas rolls his eyes, pulls his knees to his chest and stares off into the tree line. He could get up, leave Mitch here to pout and stew, but he stays put. After a long silence, he ventures a question.

“What about you?”

“What _about_ me?” Mitch stirs, eyebrow raising over his shut eyes.

“Haven’t you ever fallen for someone?” Jonas squeaks, voice fading as Mitch’s shoulders go rigid. There’s a long silence, a tense one. Mitch grunts, shrugging.

“Nah.”

“Really?”

“Mm.”

“Just... never met the right person?”

“Guess not.” The answer is short and curt, entirely devoid of emotion. And it hurts in a very strange way. A way that’s equal parts Jonas’ anger at himself for feeling hurt and actual pain in the pit of his stomach. He turns the stake over in his hands once more, and it feels heavier than it had before.

“Y-you will,” he says softly, and Mitch cracks an eye open, turning slightly to look up at him. “Someday you’ll find someone to fall for.”

“Don’t think so... not me. Real issue ain’t me likin’ someone, it’s them likin’ a piece a’ shit like me.”

Jonas’ throat closes. It’d be so easy to say something suave, or coy, tell him something like _‘it’s easier than you think.’_ He steels himself, swallowing the lump in his throat, and reaches down. Maybe he’s just going to put a reassuring hand on Mitch, or maybe he really is going to confess to something, he’s not quite sure. But when he does put his hand down, landing on the underside of Mitch’s arm, something else happens.

Mitch flinches and laughs. Just a little abrupt one, but after he does he clamps his mouth tightly. They stare at each other for a moment.

“Oh my God. You’re ticklish,” Jonas says with giddy excitement.

“No, I ain’t- Spots, _no,_ ” Mitch starts to sit up, but Jonas darts a hand out at Mitch’s stomach. Though it’s impossibly firm under his fingers he still manages to press down, and the second he does Mitch is curling in on himself and cackling again. Jonas pounces, clambering to his knees and landing both hands against Mitch, poking at his sides and neck and back as Mitch howls.

He’s begging Jonas to stop, face going red, big hands flailing in an attempt to push Jonas off him. The smaller man ducks and dips away from Mitch’s hands, laughter growing louder as Mitch tries to roll away from him.

In a swift movement, Mitch manages to catch one of Jonas’ wrists and pulls. Though he wriggles desperately to escape Mitch’s grasp, the taller man gathers both Jonas’ hands between his own and yanks him down into the long grass, panting as the last of his laughter begins to fade.

“No fair!” Jonas whines through his laughs, pulling at his hands, but Mitch lets a triumphant creep across his face as his grip tightens.

“Yer so lucky I don’t getcha back for that, Spots,” Mitch says, his breath beginning to slow as Jonas sticks his tongue out with a giggle.

Jonas presses his cheek against the meadow, the smell of damp, cold earth close as he evens out his breathing as well. Mitch is still holding him, still smiling. Their chests are inches from each other, and if Jonas were to turn his head just slightly he’s sure their noses would brush.

Mitch’s smile fades, his face becoming smooth and even as Jonas ventures a look up to him. They remain still and silent aside from their breathing, close enough to feel the warmth from each other’s skin.

It feels like an eternity while Mitch’s eyes flit slowly across Jonas’ face. Jonas lets his own do the same, trace slowly over the arch of Mitch’s brows, down to his thick eyelashes, further to the curve of his jaw. The scruffy hair there is more unkempt this close, but it looks inviting and soft.

How would it feel beneath his lips?

Jonas aches to find out. They’ve seemingly grown even closer, so close now he can feel Mitch’s legs against his. He pulls a hand free and reaches up, laying his palm flat against Mitch’s face and running his fingers over the stubble on his jaw. It’s woolier than he expected, prickly beneath the pads of his fingers but it is soft, softer than he expected, softer than he’s imagined, softer than it felt in his dreams. He wants to have both hands on it, feel it beneath his fingers and discover how it feels to hold Mitch in both his hands. He wants to bring his other hand up.

Before he can do that, though, Mitch shifts up to his elbow. Their faces are still close, Jonas still cradling Mitch’s cheek with a delicate firmness to anchor him near. Mitch is motionless, staring down at Jonas with something glowing in his eyes. He squeezes Jonas’ hand once, almost experimentally, watching him cautiously for a reaction. Jonas swallows noisily and squeezes back. It just feels like the right thing to do. It feels so _perfectly_ right.

Mitch seems to think so too as his eyes soften, lids drooping slightly as he inches down just a bit. Jonas’ hand, seemingly with a mind of its own, slides back to card gently through Mitch’s locks and settle there, thumb tracing slowly along his earlobe.

Jonas is sure Mitch can probably hear his heart pounding. They’re so close, their bodies so warm, their breath intermingling, and Jonas’ lips start to burn.

Just as Mitch leans in with some determination, just as Jonas’ breath hitches in his throat, just as something may possibly be about to happen, a loud boom has them both so startled they jump.

“Shit,” Mitch barks, flying back upwards onto his knees, hands still around Jonas.’ He’s looking at the sky, eyes filled with concern. Jonas tries to still the thumping in his chest as he looks past Mitch finally, his stomach pitting at the thick clouds. They’re dark, almost unnaturally so, and moving quickly across the sky. Far off in the distance, over the hills and valleys on the horizon, a bolt of lightning cascades down and strikes the earth. Then another thunder clap.

“We should get you home quick,” Mitch says, not looking at him. Jonas just nods and sits up, his wrists weak and hands shaky from leftover, unused adrenaline. For a couple seconds it’s strange, uncomfortable and awkward as Mitch hauls himself to his feet with a grunt.

Jonas looks up, hoping to sneak one last look at Mitch, and is met with Mitch’s big hand extended palm-up to him. He’s smiling that little smile Jonas loves so much.

Jonas takes his hand, lets Mitch pull him to his feet and keeps his fingers in Mitch’s warm grip as he brushes the grass off the seat of his trousers. Reluctantly he pulls his hand away from Mitch’s grasp as they begin to walk quickly back towards the dirt path.

They make their journey back to Sellwood quick, heads down against the biting wind. Jonas curls into himself, wrapping Mitch’s coat tighter against every gust as Mitch holds him close into his side.

“Friggin’ shit, it’s about to blow a goddamn gale,” Mitch grumbles, stopping at the stone pillar at the end of the path.

“Are you gonna be okay getting home?” Jonas says, nearly shouting over the sounds of the incoming storm. “You could always... come up, come inside for a bit. We have room.” A lie. But he’d make room.

“That’s prob’ly not such a good idea Joey,” Mitch chuckles. Before he can inquire why, Mitch ruffles his hair. “I’ll be fine. Get inside.”

Jonas nods hastily, shuddering in the frigid air and turning on his heel. He takes a few quick steps before he freezes and turns back around. Mitch hasn’t moved, still watching him from his spot near the trees, and gives Jonas that little smile.

Jonas gives it right back.

The door slams shut behind him, and he nearly melts in the warm air of his home. Dean is still up in Burrville, Sue calls a hello from the kitchen where she’s roasting what smells like a hen, and Sidney sits in the living room with a pair of the trousers she’d stolen from Jonas’ wardrobe in her lap. She looks up from her stitching, her eyebrow cocked suspiciously.

“Back so soon, Jojo?”

“Yeah... yeah it’s getting really bad out there.”

“Hm. I bet. Gotta be a really long walk from Baybury. Because that’s where you were.”

“Uh. Yup. Pretty long,” he chuckles nervously. His sister sighs.

“C’mere,” she whispers, eyes darting cautiously to the kitchen. He walks over and plops in the chair next to her. Her eyes go into slits. “I ran into Maddie today. She said you haven’t been staying with her. In fact, she said she’s barely seen you. Where have you been?” Jonas flinches. Her tone is equal parts accusatory and hurt. He groans, running a hand through his hair.

“It’s- it’s complicated Sid,” he says. She scoffs.

“I’m sure it is, but that doesn’t mean you have to lie about it... at least, not to me,” her voice wavers and Jonas reaches out, wrapping his fingers around her wrist. Sid stops her stitching. “If Dean finds out, Jonas... he’ll be livid, and I don’t want that to happen....”

“It won’t. He won’t. I’ll... start being more honest with you. I’m sorry,” he says earnestly. She looks at him expectantly, so he continues just a bit quieter, “There’s... there’s this guy-”

“Oh,” Sid says. A short silence engulfs the room until she speaks. “Guy who gave you the jacket, huh?”

“What? How did you- did I ever- what made you-”

“I literally saw you smell it the other day with this dumb smile on your face. How could I not know?” She deadpans. Jonas winces.

“That obvious?”

“Oh yeah.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> alright i really don't love this chapter but i'm excited for chapters to come! i'm going to update either christmas or christmas eve for a chapter that was really fun to write! thanks a million for reading :)))


	3. On A Dark & Stormy Night

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a smol christmas chapter, which has nothing to do with christmas! This one's a bit uneventful too but i'm looking forward to chapters to come!

The scent of charred firewood wafts through the house as the storm blows, sending strong gusts of wind down the chimney. Jonas can hear it whistle through the flue from all the way up in his room, where he finally kicks his shoes off and slumps back onto his bed. Still fully clothed, he lays back into his bed and yanks his quilts up to his chin, nuzzling his cheek into the pillow.

He can practically smell the peat and feel its dampness beneath his cheek. He’s going to relive that moment in his head forever, he’s pretty sure. Mitch’s fingers around his. The feeling of Mitch’s jaw beneath his fingers, his cheek beneath his palm. If he’d dragged his hand over, toyed with the side of Mitch’s mouth, run his thumb slowly over Mitch’s lower lip, what would have happened?

Nothing? He can’t even fathom how badly that would hurt.

Something? That thought makes him a bit sick, the pain of embarrassment clenching in his chest. The thought of Mitch feeling something for him, maybe even wanting him, is restricted to dreams and he knows that. But he can _feel_ it, the brush of the grass along the back of his exposed neck as he studied the golden flecks in Mitch’s eyes.

Bringing his fingers to his lips softly, he sighs. They’re still burning. Without a doubt they have been all night; he could barely focus on dinner at all, remaining silent as he stared down as his meal and felt his heart thud.

A dull noise has Jonas stirring from a half-sleep, wiping at the drool on his cheek and blinking his eyes shut tightly. He stirs and sits up, straining to hear the sound again over the howling wind.

It’s a thumping, kind of a rapping- someone knocking on the door. Jonas’ heart seizes.

What if it’s Mitch? If he didn’t make it home, if he turned around and ran right back here to Jonas? Is that good? The thought feels good, but logically Jonas knows Dean will be livid about a visitor this far after sundown.

He jumps out of bed, kicking his legs free of his blankets as he scrambles down the stairs as quietly as possible, meeting up with Sidney on the second level. They stumble to a halt, watching Dean throw the door open in anger as they grab onto each other and the walls to stop. He shouts something, but the visitor- definitely not Mitch, from the sounds of it- begins to shout and wail in panic.

Sidney squeezes his upper arm and looks at him with concern, but Jonas just shakes his head. They inch down the steps almost silently, ducking for a better view of their visitor.

The man’s eyes are wild as he frantically speaks to Dean, hands waving, head shaking, voice tight. Dean seems to stiffen when the man drops his face into his hands and shudders. Jonas looks to Sidney and shuffles closer.

“You’re sure it’s back?” Dean asks, his words low and heavy.

“It must be, everything’s gone, Mr. Wagner. All of it. We could survive for a day but it’s ruined the whole village’s supply, and with the way our animals are going-”

“Livestock too, then?”

“More every day,” the man wails, throwing his hands up, “All my cows are dead. I got a baby, Mr. Wagner. And 2 little girls. They need _food._ It didn’t even eat ‘em, my cows. It just murdered ‘em and spilled their guts in my barn. It toyed with ‘em.”

“We have enough stock on hand to last the village through tomorrow. I’ll send my son with it-” Jonas groans internally. “If it’s milk you’re worried about, I’m sure the Bittles have some to spare. Go up the hill and talk to them. I’ll leave at sunrise to investigate.”

Jonas huffs. Before he and Sidney can duck back behind the stairs, Dean turns on his heel and walks past.

“I know you heard that. Get dressed, you’re bringing goods to Baybury. You’ll have to spend the night but I’m sure there’s somewhere in the church you could sleep.”

Jonas balks. He’s going now? To spend the night? In Baybury?

“Dean-”

“Are you not upstairs yet? What did I just say?” He barks. Sidney’s pulling on Jonas’ sleeve, but he doesn’t need her urging to scramble up the stairs. She stays at the door of his room, pacing back and forth as he dresses quickly. She hands him a new cloak made from heavy white wool with a frown.

“Do you need me to come with you?” She ventures, leaning in close.

“N-no, I’ll be okay,” he says, sounding just as unsure as he feels. She frowns. She opens her mouth, ready to protest, but he looks at her pointedly. Slowly, her mouth shuts and she shakes her head.

“Okay.”

They shuffle downstairs and begin to assemble the products into the basket. It’s a shocking amount of food; almost their entire supply of butter, jam, 4 loaves of bread, and much of their preserved beef. Jonas slings the cloak over his neck and fastens it as Sidney watches, wringing her hands. With a grunt he hauls the basket over his arm and turns the knob on the door.

It swings open full force and slams into the wall as a gust of freezing wind blows through. They both jump and Jonas darts his hand out to steady it from slamming against the wall once more. They peek outside, leaning out of the doorframe carefully and looking up to the sky. The stars are covered by a layer of what seems to be thick, black clouds. Every so often they part, allowing a bright half-moon to illuminate some of the windswept village and daunting forest. Jonas swallows at the lump in his throat, but it persists.

“A horse would be so nice right now,” he says meekly, and Sid nods, staring at the forest with him.

“I can still come with you.”

“No, Dean won’t like that.” He’s right, but his twin grimaces anyway.

“Hasn’t stopped me before,” she grumbles, squinting into the darkness, “whatever they were talking about sounded dangerous, Jojo. That man said it killed his livestock for fun. I don’t want you to go alone.”

Jonas opens his mouth to respond, but a booming voice echoes through the house.

“Have you not left yet?” Dean’s voice rises, his anger seeping into his words, and Jonas grimaces.

“It’ll be fine, Sid. I’ll be back as soon as possible,” he promises, and she throws her arms around him. He wraps her up with his free hand and squeezes her before he turns, staring down the dark streets to the darker forest. He bends to take a lit lantern off their front steps and hears the door shut slowly as he begins down the path. If he turns around, he’ll see Sid’s face in the window and lose all resolve, so he doesn’t. He just holds the basket and the lantern close to himself as a defense against the brutal wind which sweeps between the homes.

The massive trees and thick underbrush of the forest seem to do nothing against the wind. It blows just as hard, if not harder, through the pines and evergreens and around Jonas. His breath is fast and his shoulder begins to ache from the weight of his goods. With a high whistle, a large gust whips around him.

The flame on his lantern goes sideways then disappears, leaving a thin trail of smoke in the darkness. Jonas groans through his teeth and shoves it into the basket, shifting it to his other arm as he treks on. The forest is silent aside from the wind and each crack of a twig, rustle of leaves, and creak of the branches has him shuddering, squeezing his eyes, and quickening his pace. Suddenly the sky is lit up in white, and a few seconds later the telltale crash of thunder that indicates the rain is coming.

“Mitch,” Jonas calls into the darkness, “right now would be a great time for you to show up.”

Wishful thinking, but maybe it will work. No such luck. A particularly loud snap from somewhere beyond the tree line has him ducking his head and pushing on, not raising his eyes from the ground until he bumps into the gates of Baybury.

Another clap of thunder booms as he pushes through the rickety wooden gate into the small town. It’s not raining yet, but he can hear it approaching with every crash, and the winds starts to smell like a storm. A strong gust shudders the flames of the lamps, whipping up whatever leaves and debris are on the ground and spinning them up into a cyclone as Jonas makes his way to the church. Jonas presses the basket into his side, pulling in on himself to stay warm. When he reaches the church, he wants to barge through the doors out of the cold, but he hears a murmuring inside. It’s rather loud, so he bangs the knocker on the door, eliciting a few noises of shock, a few of fear, before a voice hushes the muttering.

“Who goes there?” It’s Pastor Cleary’s voice.

“Jonas, uh, Jonas Wagner. From Sell-” the doors open and he’s yanked inside by the edge of his cloak. He stumbles over the entryway before the doors are slammed behind him. Countless eyes watch him as he straightens up and his face floods with confusion. The pews are populated by families, some still in their nightclothes, huddled into the wooden seats with their arms around each other. A few peaceful babies sleep in their mothers’ arms, countless children with bare feet huddle around their fathers’ legs as the men stand near the doors and windows, pushing the little ones back to their mothers.

The men are all armed. They stand at attention, wearily watching the surrounding forest in the dark, sneaking glances at one another and back at their families.

“What’s going on?”

“Did you bring food? Some of these people haven’t eaten since yesterday,” Pastor Cleary says, bifocals slipping down his thin nose as his brow creases with worry.

“Yeah, yeah, plenty,” Jonas says, plopping the basket down to open it as the murmuring begins again, louder this time, as people begin to look towards them.

“All right, all right,” Pastor Cleary raises his timid voice and waves his willowy arms above his head, “Oldest and youngest first. Remember to say grace and thank God for this food he has bestowed upon us.”

Okay, sure, Jonas is the one who bestowed this food upon them, but that’s fine too.

He watches the elders round up the children and form a small mass around the basket. Pastor Cleary crouches, beginning to hand the food out quickly into grasping little hands. In a matter of minutes the entire congregation is fed, even the men gnaw at their bread as they steady their guns against the stained glass windows.

“Pastor Cleary,” Jonas tries, but the man stiffens and jumps up.

“Has anyone seen the Parsons?” He yells. The church goes silent.

“Pastor Cleary-”

“Helen and Matthew Parson, who live beyond the grain silos. Has anyone seen them?”

“Pastor Cleary!”

“We need at least 6 men for a search party, take your guns and check the Parson home,” His voice wavers and the congregation begins to murmur again. Slowly, one-by-one, men pull away from their positions at the windows and reluctantly walk over to the door. Their faces are all solemn but one, a young man who looks about Jonas’ age. His face is plastered with fear, his eyes wide behind his glasses, mouth agape beneath the sparse moustache on his lip.

“We’re actually going out there?” The young man’s voice cracks.

“If the Parsons are in their home they could be trapped, Lewis. We can’t leave any members of the congregation behind. We all remember what happened last time,” the pastor’s tone is scolding, and the young man takes a step back beneath the crowd of townsmen. Before Jonas can try once more to ask what in the fresh heck is happening, he feels and hand tug at his arm. Maddie’s brown eyes greet him, filled with what seems like anxiety though her mouth is pressed into a hard line. She pulls him and he follows, weaving through the pews until they reach the pipe organ at the front of the church near the altar. She drops to the bench, shoulders slumped, face tired, eyes downcast at her clenched fingers.

“Will you finally be the one to tell me what’s happening?” he says impatiently. Maddie looks up at him and he winces.

She’s crying. He has never seen this girl display any emotion other than general distaste, and he’s so awkward with tears, but he crouches to ask, “Mads? What’s wrong?”

“Oh Jonas,” she whimpers, sniffling loudly, “I just can’t believe this is happening again. It’s been years... we all thought it was over,” A sob overtakes her. Jonas cautiously brings a hand up to pat at her shoulder. He feels like an awkward idiot, not knowing what to say, but continues to pat away. After a few minutes she stops, pulling a handkerchief from her dress and wiping at her tears daintily.

“Are you okay...?” Jonas says as she sniffs once and tosses her hair away from her shoulders.

“Yes,” her voice is back to its usual iciness, “I’m fine. Thank you.”

“Mads, please _please_ tell me what’s going on here? I’m totally in the dark.”

“It’s going to sound foolish and fantastical, but I need you to believe what I say,” Jonas leans in, his curiosity peaked, and she sighs. “There is... there is a monster here, Jonas. He’s returned after so many years to torment us again.”

“A monster?”

“That’s what I call it, but my father says I shouldn’t give it the grace of a name,” Maddie laughs humorlessly. “But that’s what it is. It’s- it’s... It is evil, Jonas. Evil.”

“What do you mean it’s returned?”

“Everything stopped maybe, I don’t know, maybe 10 years ago? Before that it was... manageable. Once every so often, one or two times a year. We’d wake up to some of our hens missing, blood all over the coop. Or a pig or two went missing. A couple years some barns were burned. We lost two villagers in one year... just gone. Gone. No blood or anything just big, horrible claw marks in the dirt. The town drunk even got mauled a few years ago. But now?” her voice goes soft and her eyes trail out the window across the room. “Now it’s different. It’s worse.”

“Worse?”

“Much worse,” Maddie whimpers. “It’s been 3 days of never ceasing terror. First, it burned our grain silos to the ground. We lost months of stock. On Tuesday, it murdered all the pigs. On Wednesday, it murdered all the hens. This morning all the cows were dead.”

“It’s trying to starve you out,” Jonas says breathlessly, and Maddie shakes her head.

“There’s more. We’ve lost 4 villagers, Jonas. 4 people just yesterday.”

“Gone?”

“No,” her face breaks as her lower lip begins to quiver. She’s still staring out the window. “No, we know exactly where they are. They’re in a pile. Outside the cemetery. We couldn’t put them in graves because when we _tried_... the gravedigger was ripped to shreds, too.” Jonas’ knees feel weak suddenly, and slowly he sits down beside her on the piano bench. He looks around at the townspeople, cold and huddled together under the glow of lanterns and candles. Everyone jumps as the stained-glass windows light up and a boom rattles the wooden rafters, followed closely by the sound of driving rain beating against the roof.

“What _is_ it?”

“No one knows,” her voice is soft, “the only one to have seen it was the drunkard, and he was always too afraid to say a word about it before he left. Some people think it’s a fallen angel. The teenagers tell stories about it having hooves and a pointed tail. I don’t know what it is, and I don’t care to find out.”

“We’re safe here, right?” He asks, and she scoffs.

“We’re not safe anywhere.”

They sit in silence for a bit, listening to the howling wind before they hear a ramming against the door. The room erupts in shouts and cries as the pounding continues over the storm. Even Pastor Cleary is far from the door, huddled behind a post. Voices call over the noise, voices from outside the door begging for them to open up, to let them in, to help. Pastor Cleary scrambles to the door, unlatching the heavy lock as men burst through the door and fall in a gasping pile onto the ground. They’re soaked in rainwater and pale as wax, panting like they’ve just run for miles, scrambling away from the door on their hands and knees.

Jonas counts them, then counts them again, the once more for good measure. There’s 5. How many had they gone out with?

“Where’s Bernard?” Pastor Cleary says breathlessly, staring at the men at his feet.

  1. They had gone out with 6.



All 5 of the remaining men are still on the floor, rolling, spitting up rainwater and wiping it from their beards, dragging their hands down their drawn faces. The young man has his head between his knees, hands knit tightly into his soaked red hair. The noise in the hall settles, slowly, but the men don’t move. They stay on the ground, curled in on themselves, both tense and listless, as Pastor Cleary speaks up again.

“Where is Bernard...? And the Parsons? Are-”

“Dead,” one pale man’s voice drifts up, far away.

Jonas can hear the pastor exhale all the way from the altar.

“We all are,” the young redhead pipes up, his voice cracking. All eyes in the congregation turn to him as he presses his knees tighter against his temples and shudders. “We’re all dead.”

“Lewis, we are children of a merciful God. Though he taketh away-”

“That thing’s gonna kill every last one of us,” the man wails. His head pops up, face drawn with fear, eyes wide as he stares up at the pastor. “It’s gonna rip us all to shreds like it did Bernard, and the Parsons, and Mercy Greene, and-”

“We cannot panic and give into the fear!” The pastor bellows, louder than Jonas has ever heard him.

“That werewolf is gonna kill every man, woman, and child in this town and there’s nothing we can do!” The young man, Lewis, yells back. His words echo up into the rafters, loud over the driving rain. Pastor Cleary’s eyes widen slowly, and he takes a few steps towards the trembling men.

“Did you- did you all see it?” He asks, surveying them. “Is it really a were-”

The entire group freezes as something on the roof thumps. For a moment, everyone goes silent, hunching down into their pews and casting eyes up, flickering over the rafters looking for a source for the noise. A long few seconds of silence crawl past.

Another heavy thump.

And then another, moving across the roof from the left of the church to the front the thuds continue. Footsteps.

No one has moved an inch, Jonas notices from the corner of his eyes. Their bodies are frozen as their eyes trail along the ceiling, following the noise, gritting their teeth in the strain to hear it over the storm. A thunder crash and a few people flinch, but the footsteps have stopped. Every eye in the hall is on the spot above Pastor Cleary’s head.

When the hacking sound starts, people begin to panic. The noise of wood being ripped, torn to shreds, the crack and crunch of the pine roof is barely audible over the screams of the masses. Maddie throws her arms around Jonas and clings to him, and he clings back, blood still and icy as he prepares for the roof to give in under the beast’s feet.

But it doesn’t. Instead, the sound stops as suddenly as it’d started. The screaming ceases as mothers muffle their children, clapping hands over their mouths and pulling them close. The men raise their guns in shaking hands, pointing all around the ceiling, eyes darting around as the wind howls outside. And then the thud of footsteps is back, steadier and quicker than last time, and its above Jonas and Maddie now. Not directly, but almost, over towards the left near the chimney beside the pipe organ the footsteps stop.

A howl, a scrape, and a thundering boom all at once as lightening lights up the windows. Something massive hits the bottom of the chimney with a crash, sending shards of wood and a cloud of ash out into the church as Jonas yanks Maddie backward and they topple over the back of the bench. He squeezes his eyes shut, ready to hear that terrible yowl, ready for the gnashing of teeth and screaming of mothers as babies are torn from their hands.

But there’s nothing. Nothing, no screaming or gnashing or tearing of flesh as the ash settles onto the church floor until another, smaller sounding item tumbles down the chute and onto the stone hearth.

After a few moments of panicked silence, the congregation begins to move. First a man lifts his head, then Pastor Cleary stands, then slowly everyone is rising from their places cowering on the floor. Jonas cracks one eye open, staring at the fireplace as Maddie pushes him away and tries to smooth her dress. There _are_ 2 things, just as he thought, one massive and one tiny in comparison. Maddie is yelling, he can hear her saying something about how she despises being manhandled, but he ignores her in favor of standing. With quiet, cautious steps, Jonas follows a few others who venture over to the hearth to investigate.

He peeks between the arms of 2 men, swallowing as his shoes slip on the thick layer of ash blown across the floor. Sitting in the fireplace, wedged against the walls, is the crucifix from the top of the bell tower. It gouged with long strikes, claw marks and bites, and part of the top is missing. The bottom is hacked and splintered, all jagged edges from where the monster had detached it from the steeple. Instead of tearing it off with brute strength, as Jonas is sure it could’ve, it used something, a saw maybe, which lays beside the abused crucifix. There’s a wood portion, part of it is metal, but he can’t make out any more between the bodies of the villagers.

He ducks, trying to see beyond an arm, but is blocked. He raises to his tiptoes to glance over a shoulder, but again his efforts are thwarted. Finally, he breaks through the small crowd, stumbling over a few shattered pieces of charred firewood as he presses his hand against the stone hearth to steady himself as he bends slightly. The tool is not a saw, he realizes, it’s an axe.

Which makes sense and accounts for that awful hacking noise they’d heard on the roof. He bends a bit further, squinting, trying to see past the blood on the handle.

And he does.

Just underneath a thick layer of sticky, coagulated blood are the initials he was looking for. Messily scrawled, carved into the wood, ‘F.M.’

A noise starts to hum in his ears. He closes his eyes, squeezes them hard, and checks again to see if the initials are still there.

And Oh, God, why.

He takes a shaking breath, listening to the sound of his lungs filling with air, simmering with the way his throat dries and chest expands. Then he exhales, his body deflating, shoulders slumping, chest emptying. He’s suddenly aware of the heartbeat thrumming in his ears which picks up faster and faster until it’s buzzing. His feet are so heavy against the ground they anchor his body in place. Once more he blinks, longer this time, and opens again. The initials remain.

He feels hollow. Mitch is alone out there. Mitch hadn’t intercepted him on his walk, didn’t come when he called. He always comes when Jonas calls. Always.

But not if he’s dead. Jonas feels stinging bile rise in his throat at the thought. Mitch is dead. Mitch is dead and this thing killed him. Dead.

Jonas turns away from the fireplace and starts down the aisle, walking slowly. His pace becomes faster with each pew he passes, each step closer to the door, and by the time Pastor Cleary tries to reach out and catch him he’s running. Sprinting, out of the doors of the church and into the rain, straight into danger, and he couldn’t care less. The calls of his name fade under the whistle of the wind as he keeps running with his head down and arms pumping. Through the gates, down the dirt path, through the thick forest he drives against the rain and wind which battle him back. He’s already screaming by the time he crosses the creek, shouting out Mitch’s name over the storm, because Mitch _always_ comes when he calls.

But no one meets him as he clambers down the valley and over the knoll, looking for the worn path. If he squints in the dark, he can just barely make out the shape of the cottage on the plain. He calls into the forest again, over and over, but no one answers. No one comes.

Jonas is alone in the dark wood, accompanied only by the wind and the rain, the thunder and the lightening.

Somewhere in the distance, a creature howls.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> what the fuck, mitch
> 
>  
> 
> THANKS FOR READING! :))


	4. The Big Bad Wolf

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi y'all! new chapter! gore warning i guess? there's blood? idk
> 
> thank you all so much for commenting with your ideas and theories about last chapter, it made me so so happy! some of them were seriously so good i probably should've changed the entire story to fit them
> 
> but it's already mostly written
> 
> so
> 
> ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯

His feet slap the wet mud with every frantic, familiar step towards Mitch’s cabin. His body quakes, chest heaving and legs becoming heavy as his leather shoes fill with water and filth, but he pushes on as the rain and wind batter him back. The sky cracks open with a crash, lightening illuminating the forest and the house in front of him, still he stumbles on the worn path through the dead leaves.

“Mitch,” he’s screaming, his throat burning, but it sounds like a whisper under the shatters of thunder and pounding rain. He doesn’t stop as he barrels into the door, simply leans his shoulder into it and tosses his weight against it. It’s open, the lock broken, and he slams into the hard dusty floor with a cry. The cabin is in even greater disarray than normal, deep jagged marks in the walls and shattered wood furniture littering the front room.

He’s too late.

“Mitch!” He calls again, filled with panic and fear and desperation, nearly inaudible over the storm. Again and again, he screams Mitch’s name, darting through the small house, checking each room. The window in the bedroom is shattered, the straw mattress a haggard mess of shreds. More glass in the kitchen, more scraps of what was once probably an oak chair, and he shudders as he makes his way through the wreckage. His steps are heavy, fast and ultimately clumsy as his chest seizes with fear at the open back door blowing wildly in the storm.

His fingers catch something wet on the back doorjamb, and he nearly gets sick when he looks at the deep maroon blood on his hand, glistening almost black in the dark. He follows the trail of blackness and the scent of iron further into the woods, calling out against the violent wind. The blood pulsing through his ears goes cold as he hears a sick crunch, accompanied by the sound of tearing flesh and the overwhelming sent of innards. Pushing past a heavy evergreen branch, soaked further by the rainwater clinging to the needles, Jonas throws himself into a small clearing.

In the dark he can just make out the beast. So much more of it is human than he expected. Its hunched over on its hand and knees, its shoulder blades rising from its muscular back. It wears a torn and ragged pair of trousers but its upper half is bare, raindrops glistening on its pale skin. The trousers sit low enough around its waist that he can make out a thick brown tail juts from the bottom of its back. Jonas is frozen in fear, his feet unmoving and mouth unspeaking until the wolfman tears a chunk from the carcass beneath it. A carcass so bloodied and torn that it’s unrecognizable.

A carcass that very well could be the man he fell in love with.

He can’t control the strangled sob which leaves his throat, bubbling up like bile as he drops to his knees with his hand over his quaking mouth, ready to be sick. A nauseating heat drags up his neck, settling in the back of his throat as the beast bolts upright. Tall, dark ears prick up quickly as it whirls around, glowing eyes zeroing on Jonas’ face.

A voice breaks through the inky air, over the sound of the rain and wind and thunder and the violent ringing in his ears.

It wavers, “Joey?”

Jonas vomits through his fingers the second he registers its Mitch’s voice.

He curses his body the moment it happens, curses the shock and fear and the overwhelming smell of gore. He heaves again, tears clouding his eyes as he looks up. The werewolf’s face, his _Mitch’s_ face, breaks with panic.

“Why are- how did you- get out. Get out, leave,” His voice has a different quality, it’s lower and hoarser, seems to vibrate from his chest. That familiar, beautiful chest that Jonas thinks about so often, coated entirely with the insides of his kill. Mitch’s thick arms are bloodied up to the elbow, his face smeared with it as well, framed by wild sideburns which have seemed to grow out of nowhere. His big teeth are jagged and sharp. Jonas can’t stop staring.

“Go. Leave,” he says again, his voice saturated with dread as he starts to inch away.

“No, n-no, no, no,” Jonas is blubbering now, wiping his mouth, begging his mind to create something that could possibly make sense of this. There must be something he can say to take away that pain on Mitch’s face, to wash away the fear that makes his tall body go rigid as Jonas whimpers and tries to open his mouth again.

“ _Leave!”_ The command tears through the storm loud and rough, the edge of an animalistic growl making its way into Mitch’s words. And with that Jonas is up on his feet, whirling, running away from the one person he thought he’d never leave behind. Possibly even leaving him behind forever. Like a fool he squeezes his eyes shut and keeps running as the wind howls louder.

He hears Maddie’s words ringing in his head, digging into the base of his skull painfully.

_‘Evil.’_ Monstrous. His Mitch, _his_ , a monster? There’s no way. It must be some terrible hallucination, the smells and the sounds and the look on Mitch’s face. There’s some explanation for all that blood, for all those dead people and animals, for all the terror. It’s not real. Of course it isn’t. And why?

Because he isn’t afraid. Something so evil, so horrific, so _monstrous_ should frighten him but he feels none of it. He’s worried. He’s worried about Mitch, out here, in a shape so far from himself. Maybe he couldn’t even control what he did. Maybe he didn’t even do it. There must be another explanation.

When he decides to turn back, to run back from where he’d came, Jonas once more finds himself lost in the dark wood. The panic rises in his chest as a particularly loud clap of thunder rings through the air, shuddering the ground beneath him. He searches for the creek, for the trail, for the small knoll but he can see nothing but the darkness and pounding rain. So he does the only thing he can think, calls Mitch’s name over and over, begs him to forget what’d happened, pleads for him to help and make everything better like he always does.

“I’m not scared, Mitch,” he shouts into the emptiness of the forest, “I promise you, I’m not. I could never be afraid of you- I- I _care_ about you,” He flinches as the sky lights up white hot as another boom rocks the earth. A crack, a creaking, and the smell of burning pine is all he remembers before looking up, watching the old tree hurdle towards him in the violent rain just as he thinks he catches those glowing eyes beyond the brush.

It’s still raining when Jonas wakes.

He’s still damp and cold, but he’s inside somewhere. The room is dim and smells like the fire which roars underneath a basin filled with steaming water. Despite the pounding in his head he goes to sit up, the prospect of a warm bath too tempting to resist, but his hand sinks wrist-deep into a tear in the straw mattress.

He’s in Mitch’s bed. Which means Mitch probably walked him here, or maybe even carried him, but for the life of him he can’t remember. He remembers the storm and the tree and the smell of blood and....

He remembers that Mitch is the monster. With a grunt he goes to sit up but is knocked straight onto his back by a burning, throbbing pain on the side of his chest. Gasping as he falls back onto the down pillow, he sees a form move somewhere outside the door and before he’s able to stop himself, he calls out.

“Mitch,” he tries to make his words soft, gentle, but they shudder under the pain searing in his ribs.

“I just wanted to make sure you’d wake up,” Mitch’s voice is quiet from beyond the doorway as he moves further away, “I won’t stay.”

“No!” Jonas shouts immediately, wincing as his side flares with agony, “No, please stay. It hurts, I don’t remember what happened last night.” He’s lying, because how could he _forget_ what happened, but Mitch’s shoulders seem to relax.

“You... don’t remember?” His voice has returned to its normal state of simultaneous gruffness and warmth.

“I- well-” He’s really done it now. Jonas may be able to fool others with his lies, but Mitch will be able to see right through him. He flushes. “I remember most of it. B-but I don’t know why my entire body _hurts_ so badly.”

“A downed tree hit you,” Mitch shifts away again, entirely out of sight from Jonas’ place in bed. There’s a pause, silent aside from the crackling of the fire and raindrop patter on the moss outside before Mitch finishes in a trembling voice, “I thought you were fuckin’ dead, Joey. You could’ve died. You know that? What in the fuck were you thinkin’, followin’ me, you have _no idea-”_

“I wasn’t following you,” he protests, “I was searching for you, I was worried.”

“It was still fuckin’ stupid,” Mitch hisses back. They’re silent again.

“Come here,” Jonas pleads.

“No.”

“Fine then. I’ll just come to you.”

“What? Wait, no, what?” Mitch sounds flustered, his big silhouette moving closer as Jonas tosses the flannel blanket off himself and takes a deep breath in. He starts to swing his legs over the side of the bed but is stopped almost immediately by the way his eyes go white with pain. Doubling over, trying somehow to stop it but only managing to make it worse, he chokes out something between a sob and scream before he feels big hands on his shoulders, pushing him back.

“How much stupid shit are you gonna do in 24 hours?” Mitch says, the edge in his voice completely overtaken by the softness and worry in his amber eyes. Jonas’ heart sings when he sees Mitch’s face, safe and normal and familiar, under the dim glow of the fire. When the taller man tries to pull his hands away Jonas stops him, quickly clutching his wrists and securing them in place against his shoulders. For a moment, Jonas forgets the night in the church, forgets the image of the pile of bodies, forgets the axe covered in blood, and stares. Everything in him wants to reach up, run his hands along Mitch’s clean biceps, his stubble-covered cheeks, his bright skin. It’s obvious neither one of them knows what to say, and Mitch is looking everywhere but at him, so Jonas clears his throat.

“Thank you. Uh, for bringing me back here.”

“Yeah.”

More silence, and Jonas really must have ruined this. He’s so foolish. What was he thinking, really? That even if, by some grace of God, Mitch could ever want him, or even love him, that they could just live out their lives forever in some secluded cabin? Never. He let himself do this, too, let himself give into the fantasy he’s played out in his dreams. They’re not even just that anymore, because Jonas has let them dictate his life. His life has been one big, preposterous fantasy. He always has his head in the clouds, that’s why he can’t do anything right. He doesn’t live in reality; he lives in that fantasy. He’s been living in the dream of settling into the cabin and baking in the day and spending his evenings in the arms of a tall, foul-mouthed woodsman. What a dream it was, for the short while he could have it. Maybe if he’d never let himself had it, all this wouldn’t hurt so badly.

Because in reality he’s a just a poor butcher’s son.

And Mitch is just a monster.

Mitch looks at him for a fraction of a second before he nervously darts his eyes down and away. Jonas sniffs and blinks, looking out the window at the quiet rain, trying not to cry and only seem more ridiculous before Mitch sighs.

“Joey...” and God, why does he _do_ this? Why does Mitch sound so worried, sweet, even apologetic when really he should be just as angry as he was a moment ago- no, he should be angrier, he should be livid with Jonas.

“I’m- I’m so s-sorry,” Jonas whimpers, groaning in anger as his tears start to fall, yanking his hands away from Mitch’s wrists to cover his face pathetically. He sobs into his shivering palms as Mitch slowly pulls his hands away from his shoulders. He feels a big hand make its way, so painfully slow and careful, onto his head to stroke his hair, and he peeks through his fingers. Mitch yanks his hand away as soon as their eyes meet.

“I’m sorry. Shit. I’m sorry if that scared you, I don’t wanna scare you-”

“It didn’t,” Jonas says through a wet sniffle, “y-you know you could never scare me, right?” Mitch’s face darkens.

“Don’t lie, Jonas. Ya don’t need to lie to try and make me feel better. I know what I am,” he says darkly.

“I’m serious,” Jonas rubs his eyes, trying to wipe the tears away. “I could never be afraid-”

“Oh come on,” Mitch stands, walking back towards the doorway as he finishes, “I know how much I fuckin’ scared you last night, for fuck’s sake you got _sick at the sight of me_. If you, _you_ of all people could think I was so fuckin’ disgusting-”

“It wasn’t like that.”

“I disgusted you, Joey.”

“No, it wasn’t like that, it wasn’t!” He’s yelling now, his ribs burning, and Mitch is yelling too. They’re shouting over each other.

“You fuckin’ know what I am now, don’t lie and tell me you don’t hate-”

“I was just startled, I’d never-”

“Startled, oh, _startled_ , that’s why you puked the minute you saw me, huh, I bet that’s real-”

“God, you are so ridiculous, will you just listen to me? I was worried about you, you oaf, villagers from Baybury told me there was some monster and I thought it might’ve gotten-”

“NO, Jonas! I _am_ the fucking monster!” His shoulders are shaking and his face is distraught, angry, a little afraid. Jonas swallows the tears that threaten to rise again.

“N-no you’re not... you might be a-a-”

“Just _say_ it. Werewolf. Wolf man. Beast. A hideous fuckin’ _creature.”_

“You might be different, but I know you can’t be responsible for terrorizing the townspeople around here.” When Jonas says this, voice firm, Mitch actually freezes. “You can’t. You _can’t._ Not you.”

He doesn’t know who he’s trying to convince, himself or Mitch. It’s not possible, in any form, that the man he knows could have committed these atrocities. But he had seen the blood, seen the claws, seen the glowing eyes, and in the back of his mind a voice is telling him that there is an inkling of a possibility that he’s in the same room as the man that killed all those people.

The air is tense in the seconds after he says it, and his stomach begins to twist. Mitch isn’t looking at him, and Jonas is panicking. But ever so slowly he turns and walks back, plopping down on the stool next the bed.

“What’re ya talkin’ about?” His voice is barely above a whisper.

“Th-the mons- the thing that’s been killing people. It kept us hostage in the church,” Jonas says. Mitch’s frown deepens.

“The church? In _Baybury?_ Why the fuck were you in Baybury so late- did you fuckin’ go alone?”

“Well. Yes.”

“Joey,” Mitch raises his voice. “The hell? You told me you were gonna be careful. You realize that the fucker chasin’ you a while back is the same thing that kept you in the- wait. Did you leave the church with him still out there?”

“Mitch don’t- don’t scold me. I was worried about you.”

“You coulda gotten killed,” Mitch counters back icily. Jonas goes to quip something back, but he can’t think of anything to counter, so he leans back and pouts. Mitch groans under his breath, rolling his eyes. The fire crackles, the rain patters, and Mitch tiredly rubs a hand across his face as he stares at his feet. Jonas takes a heavy breath.

“I need something,” he says softly, and Mitch is immediately attentive, perking up but keeping his distance. Jonas feels Mitch’s eyes against the side of his face, but he can’t bear to watch them drop when he speaks, so he shuts his own. “You know you don’t scare me-” he hears a shaky breath, “-you don’t. Not at all. But please. I need you to _tell me_ it wasn’t you in Baybury. That it hasn’t been you in Baybury. I just need to hear you say it.”

“You think I could do some shit like that?” Mitch’s voice is pained, accusatory, and Jonas looks up. Mitch’s face is colored in anguish and he reaches up, tries to say something, but Mitch mutters, “You’re just like the rest of ‘em.”

“I didn’t say that. I don’t think you could do anything like that. And if you tell me the truth, I will believe you.” Jonas retorts quickly, but Mitch just shakes his head.

“So do you think I was the one who chased you down that day? Tore up yer cloak? You think I’d hold you captive, put you in _danger?_ ”

“No.” Jonas says so it forcefully that Mitch finally shuts his mouth and looks at him, amber eyes afraid and earnest.

“It wasn’t me in Baybury,” Mitch finally concedes. “Hasn’t been me in Baybury. Joey, I’d never, ever... you know that though, right?”

“Of course,” Jonas answers honestly. Mitch folds, resting his face in his hands and dragging them down to his chin as he shakes his head.

“I can’t believe you took off and came out here with him on the loose.”

“What else was I supposed to do? Sit inside, trapped, not knowing if you were alive or dead? I had to.”

“Don’t. Okay? Don’t, ever again.” Mitch says quickly, sighing at Jonas’ frown. “Just, please, Joey. Don’t.”

“You would’ve done it for me,” he protests, and Mitch smirks.

“Yeah. But I’m a monster, too. I could take ‘im.”

“I don’t like hearing you call yourself that. You’re not. Not like _... this._ This thing is a real monster.”

“Yeah. I know. What’s goin’ on this time?” Mitch leans in close to him, and Jonas inches towards the side of the bed, desperate for some inkling of the closeness between them he’d gotten so used to.

“I-I don’t know everything. I guess it was there some time back and then disappeared for a while. But for the past few days it’s just been tormenting the villagers. I was told their livestock’s being murdered- not eaten, just killed for fun. Some people have gone missing and never been found. Some people have been killed. Their food supplies have been burned. And last night, when some men went to look for villagers who live on the outskirts, they had been killed by something, it even got one of the men. They said it was a... a....” He trails off as Mitch looks over his face anxiously

“Henrietta Snyder.” Mitch says shortly. The name sounds familiar.

“Who- Oh. The woman whose husband was mauled a few years ago?”

“Yeah.”

“What about her?”

“Is she... okay? Are her animals alright? We had this little cow named Blossom, and she’s good? Her place hasn’t been torched, right?” Mitch’s words are fast, nervous and jittery, and Jonas furrows his brows.

“We? You know her?” A long pause follows.

“Yeah. I do. She’s my mom,” Mitch says, looking far off, and Jonas smiles only slightly. Of course she is. Now that he thinks about it, they have the exact same eyes and grin and long face.

“I’ve only met her once,” Jonas starts, and Mitch shifts, leaning in and studying his face. “Recently, when I went to drop off goods for the Clearys. She cleans the church for them now, early in the mornings. Almost at dawn. Does she know you’re out here...?”

“She... yeah. She does.” He’s silent after that, staring at his fingers. Jonas has hundreds of questions he wants to ask, but he stays quiet, waiting for Mitch to continue. “Shit. I used to visit sometimes... but I haven’t. In a while.”

“How long is a while?” Jonas says softly.

“3 years.” Mitch winces as Jonas gasps. “Yeah. I know.”

“Mitch, how long have you been _out here?”_

“Uh, 8. 8 years. Since I was 15.” He shakes his head as Jonas inhales again. “Joey, it’s better this way.”

“All alone? You’ve been all alone?”

“Yeah. ‘Til you came along.” Mitch finally looks up at him, eyes hopeful and anxious, and Jonas flushes pink. Without thinking twice he reaches up and places a hand against Mitch’s face, his thumb resting gently on his cheek.

“I’m so sorry,” he says breathlessly.

“Don’t be. I deserve it. I probably shouldn’t have even kept you here last night, ‘cuz I... I don’t think you should come around anymore.”

“What?” Jonas blurts out, panic clenching in his chest.

“I’m dangerous, Spots,” Mitch responds softly. Jonas presses his hand firmly against Mitch’s cheek, forcing him to look up. He looks so _sad._

“I am not leaving you alone.”

“That’s the dumbest thing you could do. It ain’t safe.”

“You say that. I don’t believe you. You just told me you weren’t the once hurting everyone.”

“Course I’m not. But that doesn’t mean I ain’t dangerous when I change.”

“Seems to me like the only thing you’re dangerous to is the deer around here.”

“Joey,” his voice is cautious.

“I’m serious. No matter what you say-”

“I mauled her husband.” The air between them becomes tense as the admission tumbles from Mitch’s lips. He gulps as Jonas’ hand stiffens against him. “Henrietta’s husband, _Gary._ I wanted to kill him, too. I could’ve. Easily. It was the first time I ever changed, I only stopped because people heard him screamin’ and came runnin.’”

“You- why?” Jonas tries to pretend like he’s not just the slightest bit scared, tries to keep his hand from shaking against its spot on Mitch.

“He was always beating on my Mom and me... One night it got bad. Really bad. I was so fuckin’ pissed, and I left the house and he followed me...” Mitch trails off, staring hard at his hands.

“And...?”

“And? What _‘and?’_ I changed and tried to murder him,” he finishes loud and Jonas swallows noisily. “I know. I know how bad that sounds but that’s- that’s what I fuckin’ am, Joey. You have no idea what I can do.”

“Y-yes I do,” Jonas says firmly. “I saw last night, and I told you I’m not afraid.” Mitch is shaking his head halfway before Jonas is done, successfully pushing Jonas’ hand off him.

“No, no, no. You really don’t get it. I can’t control it. I can’t fuckin’ _control_ myself and it’s getting worse.”

“Getting worse?”

“God, I shouldn’t be tellin’ you this shit,” Mitch groans and lets his head fall into his hands again, “but what the fuck have I got to lose? Yeah. It’s worse. I used to change, shit, once or twice a year? When the moon was full, only in the fall, but _now?_ ” He sighs heavily and drags his hands down his long face. “I thought it only happened on clear nights, moon all big ‘nd white, empty sky, but last night... fuck, midnight came around and all of a sudden... there I was. That’d never happened before.”

“Is that why you don’t visit your mom anymore?” Jonas says after an extended silence, and Mitch pulls up finally.

“Yeah. I could only go at night, but now I got no fuckin’ clue when I’m gonna become a monster, so I gotta stay away.”

“Does she... even know you’re still alive?” Jonas whispers and Mitch actually shudders.

“Don’t- don’t fuckin’ ask that. I dunno. I think about that a lot.” His words are so distraught, so broken that Jonas can’t help but let out a breathy, “Oh, _Mitch,_ ” before the taller man looks away again. Jonas pats the blanket next to his thigh, but Mitch only looks at him with hesitant confusion. He pats again, but still nothing, so he raises his hand to the side of Mitch’s dark hair and cradles it, gently pushing him against the temple. Mitch’s eyes widen, but he follows Jonas’ lead, leaning down onto the thick flannel blanket and crossing his arms underneath his head. Jonas keeps his fingers steady for a minute before he runs them along Mitch’s scalp, and the taller man’s eyes slip closed.

He looks exhausted. The circles beneath his eyes are dark and sunken. Jonas can’t believe he’s allowed to do this, allowed to touch Mitch in this way. Really, he’s the first person to touch him in 8 years, he thinks as his heart flutters and his fingers run gently through thick locks. The rain picks up outside, pounding against the wood overhang on the shattered window.

“You must be so tired,” Jonas comments. Mitch hums.

“I’m a’right.”

“You should sleep. I’ll get up and make something to eat-”

“You’re shittin’ me, right? You just fainted when you tried to move, like, 4 minutes ago.”

“I was fine,” he protests.

“Psh, sure. Just go back to sleep and I’ll find _you_ somethin’ to eat. You gotta rest.”

“And so do you,” he says firmly. Mitch peeks an eye open and a mischievous grin spreads across his face.

“You want me to get in bed with you, Joey?”

And just like that its back to the way it was. The teasing edge in his voice, comforting and familiar, has Jonas grinning. He continues to card his fingers through Mitch’s hair as the rain begins to beat in time with his slowing breathing. Finally, when he’s sure Mitch is asleep by the rhythm of his shoulders rising and falling, he lays back onto the pillow. He hadn’t noticed how much the fabric smelled like Mitch when he woke. It’s remarkable how it can smell just like him, lull him to sleep with that warm musk, almost if Mitch himself _were_ in bed with him.

When he wakes from his nap, the room is growing ever darker, but the fire is still stoked. Jonas smiles at the thought of Mitch staying with him. He shifts upward, wincing at the sear of his still-tender ribs and rubs at his bleary eyes. Exhaling shakily, he calls for Mitch softly in the dim light. The tall man appears at the door instantly, crosses the room to the bed in a few long strides and bends down. He brushes Jonas’ sleep-tousled curls away from his forehead, running his hand down to the back of Jonas’ skull.

“Swellins gone down a little,” he muses quietly, then plops onto the stool and places a plate on Jonas’ lap. He folds his arms on the bed, resting his chin on them as he watches Jonas pick up one of the sweet rolls and begin to nibble on it.

“I can’t believe you still have some of these,” Jonas says, eying the roll closely. He had given Mitch a batch almost 4 days ago. “Were they not good?”

“You’re kidding, right?” Mitch snorts, shaking his head. “They’re great, you just gave me like, fuckin’ 30 of ‘em.”

Jonas gives him one more skeptical side eye, and Mitch shoots a look back. Satisfied, Jonas happily tucks into the roll, taking small bites and chewing slowly. He’s pretty sure he’s hungry, and he’s pretty sure it tastes good, but he can’t seem to enjoy himself. This feels trivial, sitting here laid up in bed eating while people just a handful of miles away are being terrorized. It feels far too regular, too suffocatingly normal for the events of the past few hours. His eyes flicker over to Mitch, who seems unbothered by it all. He’s staring at Jonas hand, intently watching the way his fingers pull little stale pieces from the bread almost subconsciously. Sidney hates it and it _is_ kind of strange, so he flushes as he drops his hand to the bed. Mitch still stares at it, eyes focused, as if he’s mapping every freckle on the back of Jonas’ hand. He only looks up when Jonas clears his throat a bit.

“You were in my dream,” Jonas says, voice cloudy from sleep, not looking at his companion’s face. He can see, out the corner of his eye, how Mitch’s eyebrows raise. He continues, “You were in the church with me when we were held hostage. The monster burst through the doors and you pushed me down into a pew. I didn’t see it, but I heard you say, ‘it’s him.’”

“Huh,” Mitch grunts after a moment of silence, “that’s-”

“You know.” Jonas finally looks up. “You know who that monster is.”

Mitch’s face breaks, just a hint of panic crossing his features as his eyes trace over Jonas. He swallows, sitting up and leaning away with his eyes still locked on the small man in bed.

“Joey-”

“You called it ‘him.’ And not just in my dream.” Jonas hasn’t broken his gaze, and Mitch’s body is going tense. They stare at each other for a long moment.

“Yeah,” he admits finally. “I know.” His eyes are anchored on Jonas and filled with anxiety. Jonas swallows, studying the fear in Mitch’s face. Seeing Mitch like this, anxious and nervous and _afraid,_ is almost even more frightening than the monster itself. It’s not the same fear Jonas saw in Pastor Cleary’s face, or Maddie’s, or even the men who had seen the beast. It had been a fear of the unknown, of the horrifying capabilities this monster may have and the terrible things it might do. But the dread over Mitch’s face is deeper and wiser, as if he has knowledge about it; he knows exactly what he’s afraid of. Mitch, so big and intimidating, seems impossibly small. Almost vulnerable. Jonas has seen this look on his face before, he recognizes it and he can’t help but inhale sharply. Mitch’s eyes go downcast and his hands tighten into fists.

“Tom.”

Mitch winces as the name leaves Jonas’ lips in a voice that sounds so meek and frightened he wants to cry. Jonas feels numb, his fingers aching for some sort of warmth, so he cautiously reaches out to lay his hand over Mitch’s. He’s heard Tom’s name before, but only once. One day, a gloomy one where they stayed inside and tried to repair the broken kitchen chairs, Jonas had asked about Freddie. And Mitch had stilled, like he always does if Jonas brings up his brother, but had started talking. They left the chairs, abandoned, and sat by the fire facing each other as Mitch talked and laughed and told stories. When his father’s name came up in one of those stories, Mitch’s melancholy smile had fallen, his face darkening into something much deeper than anger or sadness.

The bastard had left after Freddie died. In some ways, it was good. The livestock were safe. The townspeople felt at ease. Mitch wasn’t scared to walk into his house anymore. In other ways, it was unbearable. He left Henrietta alone to mourn, to support a kid as broken and confused as Mitch by herself. Left Mitch alone to grow, knowing inevitably what happened to his father and older brother, knowing it would happen to him. He left him to become a creature more despised than anything.

He left Mitch alone to despise himself. To fear himself in the way he’d feared his father

“He’s back,” Jonas breathes, shaking his head. Mitch stands abruptly, body tense and shaking.

“Thought I was rid of that fucker for good,” Mitch growls, fingers uncurling and curling back into fists, over and over. “Fuckin’ hell. Bad enough to curse my ass with Mueller blood but know he’s back to torture me even more. Y’know, I bet those assholes in town think it’s me, too. I bet you they fuckin’ think it’s me.” He’s rambling, pacing, his steps becoming heavier and angrier with every word.

“Do they know? About...”

“They got an idea. _Maybe_ not about Freddie, ‘cuz he died before he could cause any real trouble. Since all the shit ended when Tom left, maybe they just thought it was him- I couldn’t tell. I was a stupid fuckin’ kid, and they all hated us ‘cuz we were scum, so I dunno if they all thought me 'n Freddie were monsters too. But years later when Gary got fucked up, and I disappeared right after... they knew. They know. Even though the villagers shut my mom out after Tom left, it got worse when I did. That’s why I couldn’t visit her in the day time; that’s why I only went back at night.”

“Mitch, if they-”

“I knew, too,” Mitch interrupts, staring at his fists angrily. “I knew he was back. I shoulda known. Course I was too stupid to even think about it when you told me he tried to snap you in half. I shoulda taken one fuckin’ look at that cloak a’ yours and known it was his work. I shoulda taken you and ran and got you as far away from here as possible.”

Jonas’ heart leaps into his throat. Mitch looks up from his hands, stares hard at Jonas for a moment and then lets out a defeated breath. Jonas inches towards him.

“I... I would have gone with you,” he says firmly, watching Mitch’ shoulders tighten as his eyes go wide. He stands abruptly and Jonas jumps, freezing in response to the way Mitch’s muscles go taught as he paces, quick steps filled with rage and anxiety, from the bed to the fireplace with his hands knit into his hair.

“That son of a fuckin’ bitch ruins everything. I came home and he’d fucked up my goddamn house last night, stole my axe- Freddie’s fuckin’ axe, that sick motherfucker. And you in that fucking church, trapped there by him. You out in the _open_. With _him._ If he’d hurt you, Joey, if he had hurt you I... I don’t even know what I’d do.”

Jonas is pretty sure Mitch is still talking, but the ringing has come back to his ears. The same hum he’d felt in the church, staring down at the initials carved into the axe handle, assuming Mitch was dead.

If he’d recognized the tools, he knows the villagers will, too.

“Oh God,” Jonas croaks, laying a hand over his mouth. Mitch stops, looks at him with wide, concerned eyes and leans in.

“What? What’s wrong?”

“He- oh God, _Mitch._ He dropped it down the chimney of the church. Freddie’s axe,” Jonas croaks, on the edge of tears. Mitch stares at him blankly for a second. Then he swallows loudly with the realization, closes his eyes and drops to the chair.

“They’re gonna come for me,” Mitch says after a long period of silence. Jonas chokes.

“No. No, no- the townspeople think you’re gone, they must know it’s him-”

“They know I wouldn’t go far from my mom. They’ll find this place soon enough."

"They haven't seen you in- in years, they must know it's him-"

"Who was the last monster who caused trouble in Baybury before Tom? Me. Who has all Freddie's tools? Me. The villagers are stupid enough to fall for his shit. And if they ain't, they hate me enough to blame me for it. We need to get you out of here. Now.”

“What? No.”

“Yes.”

“No, Mitch, no, I can’t just-”

“Yes, you can, and you will.”

“No!” Jonas shouts. Mitch goes pale in surprise. Firmly, Jonas repeats, “No. I don’t care what you say. I’m staying. I am not leaving.”

Mitch leans in close, searching Jonas’ face desperately for some kind of bluff. He seems equal parts panicked and relieved when he doesn’t find any wavering in Jonas’ gaze.

“I need you to leave. I can’t have you here, he knows where this is. You need to go back home,” Mitch seems to be getting desperate, his words fast.

“Why don’t you believe me? I’m not leaving.”

“I do believe you, and that’s fuckin’ scarier than not believin’ you. I could- probably will- change tonight. And I don’t want you anywhere near me when that happens.”

“Too bad,” Jonas says firmly, defiantly crossing his arms.

“I wasn’t givin’ you a choice, Joey,” Mitch counters. His voice is low, but his face is far more worried than threatening.

“Mitch... don’t make me leave you alone. I thought you were dead and I can’t... handle thinking that again. I can’t handle not knowing. Please let me stay with you.”

“This ain’t about me, this is about your safety.”

“No, this is all about you. You’re the one who’s in danger,” Jonas’ words are barely above the level of a whisper now, and Mitch is leaned in close to him, shoulders hung in defeat as he runs a hand over the back of his neck. Jonas ventures a small smile and continues, “Besides, if you wanted me to go home you’d have to carry me.”

“Nice try, Spots. Real funny,” Mitch tries a laugh but it falls flat, sounding ingenuine and dry. “You don’t know how hard this is. I want you to stay- fuck, of course I do. Having you here with me, knowing you were safe and knowing where you were and shit is... all I want. But that means you have to be near me. And being near me means that he could-”

Jonas watches Mitch talk. He does this a lot, goes off into some spiral, just blabbering out every idea that pops into his head, letting the words ramble and flow from him. It’s nice. Even when it’s about possible -probable- death, Jonas could listen for hours. Mitch talks with his hands, big bruised fingers waving, curling into his hair and making it stick up funny, tugging at the cuffs of his tunic. It makes him forget everything, the sideburns and teeth and blood and the fact that Mitch’s father has killed multiple people in the last 48 hours.

“I like when you do that,” Jonas says accidentally, interrupting Mitch’s verbal avalanche, and finally he goes quiet.

“Do what?”

“Talk. I guess.”

“What?”

“I like watching you talk,” Jonas says quietly, pushing the plate of uneaten food from his lap. Mitch is staring at him, his face lit up bright red, and Jonas is sure he looks just about the same. Mitch doesn’t talk again for a while, so long in fact that Jonas actually jumps when he sighs.

“Joey. I...” Mitch stops, eyes darting over Jonas’ face hastily. Those two words were filled with so much, of what Jonas doesn’t particularly know, but so much of whatever it was that it makes his chest ache. Mitch looks torn, the strain behind his eyes is so very real, as if the words won’t come out because they’re being physically strangled in his throat.

Jonas wants to push on. _Yes, Mitch?_

Nothing but the sound of the popping fire and the pulsing in his ears as Mitch stares into his eyes.

“You... you can stay,” Mitch says, his hand sliding up the ragged blanket to curl around Jonas’ needily. His grip is almost too tight. “Please stay.”

_Of course, Mitch. I’d never leave. I love you._

Jonas just nods.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay okay okay
> 
> i'm honestly very nervous about putting Tom in this because he's a character we know almost nothing about canonically, so i've tried to do as little as possible to characterize him (as anything other than a total fucking psychopath)
> 
> again: thank you for reading, thank you for commenting, thank you for kudos-ing and waiting like literally just thank you for clicking the dang link even if you think it sucks!!!!! i still love it :)


	5. Once Upon A Dream

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WOW this chapter ended up being so long... buckle up buckaroos. thanks to y'all for strappin' in for this nearly 9000 word ride.
> 
> i know it's an odd time to update but i'm gonna have a crazy hectic weekend so i thought i'd toss this out rn!
> 
> hope you enjoy!!

Jonas stirs, awoken from a tense dream he can’t seem to remember by the sound of shuffling outside the bedroom door. He squints, trying to see in the light of the somehow still-glowing embers. The door is shut- and locked, which he didn’t do. His throat feels tight when he swallows.

Internally, he debates getting up and going to the door to listen, maybe talking through it. Maybe even opening it and making Mitch face him. He’s unsettled by the twinge of fear at the thought, because Mitch said it himself: he would never, ever put Jonas in danger. But it’s still there, the trepidation, because Jonas knows what Mitch is capable of. He knows what his father is capable of too, and he hates himself for thinking it because even though he knows Mitch is nothing like Tom and would never do the things Tom has done and wants nothing more to be entirely different from Tom... but he said it himself. He’s still cursed with Mueller blood. Mitch is like this because of Tom, and that means they must be the same in some way.

Then Jonas hears a hard thud and a hissed stream of expletives and his face warms, his mouth automatically tugging up into a smile. He sits up with a small groan, tossing his legs over the side of the bed as he drapes a heavy blanket over his shoulders, wrapping it around himself and shuffling as quietly as possible to the door.

Slowly, he presses his ears against the wood and holds his breath, listening. If he strains himself, he can hear Mitch’s shaky exhale over the crackle of the fire in the living room. Without thinking, he unlatches the lock and pushes the door open slowly, staring at the back of Mitch’s head.

The pumping of his heart in his ears grows loud. He’s sure that sometime, he may get used to seeing Mitch in this state. The big claws, sharp teeth, glowing eyes, the ears and the... hair? Fur? Jonas blinks sleepily, rubbing at his eyes with the back of his fist. Mitch’s ears twitch, and Jonas nearly jumps a foot when Mitch sighs heavily.

“Go back to bed, Joey.”

Jonas ignores him, stepping across the threshold into the living room, padding softly in his socks. Mitch is on the floor with his back against the couch, legs outstretched towards the fire. Jonas can smell the grain alcohol as he comes around, sitting down on the floor with his knees to his chest, swaddling himself in the fabric of the blanket. Mitch stiffens, but doesn’t inch away. Instead he elects to knock a heavy sip back from the jug with a wince.

“That smells terrible,” Jonas says softly, staring at the side of Mitch’s face. The taller man glowers intently into the fireplace.

“Don’t taste so fabulous either.”

“Why are you drinking it then?”

“Might help me pass out. Then I’ll wake up normal again.”

“Oh,” Jonas says. He licks his inexplicably dry lips as Mitch’s long nails scrape the side of the ceramic jug. “What is it like?”

Mitch finally looks over to him, face furrowed.

“... Being like this?” he asks, and Jonas nods.

“Yeah.”

“Scary.” Mitch says it without ceremony, and Jonas mulls over his response for a moment. He watches Mitch’s eyes.

“Why?”

“Just is.” Mitch’s face twists in pain as he looks down, away from Jonas. Jonas doesn’t touch him, doesn’t yet want to test the waters of what is off-limits while Mitch is changed, but he leans in closer.

“Why?” He tries again, but this time quieter, less curious and more worried.

“Dunno how to explain it... I get these- these urges that I can’t control.”

“Urges? Like... instincts?”

“I guess,” Mitch looks pained for a moment, then takes another long drink. “To hunt, mostly, but it’s not that it’s just that. I gotta... kill. And eat. It’s like my body has to do it, even if I don’t want to.”

Jonas settles back slightly and Mitch notices, the muscles in his neck straining as he grits his teeth. He lets his head fall into his hands, hiking up a knee as he groans angrily. Jonas swallows, wrapping the blanket tighter around himself and outstretching a hand. His fingers barely ghost along Mitch’s forearm before it pulls away violently, Mitch reeling backwards with his glowing eyes zeroed on Jonas’ face.

“Don’t.”

“I’m sorry. I-I’m sorry.” They don’t move for a while, Mitch far from Jonas with his back against the wall, out of the warm embrace of the fire.

“Do you want to go home yet?” Mitch says softly, interrupting the silence.

“What? No. Of course not,” Jonas says, his eyes starting to burn as he realizes he’s only half honest. “And... and I know it’s not safe to go outside but if you need to hunt, you should. I can trap something, but it’d be small, and-”

“No.” Mitch says it in such a way that not only silences Jonas but makes his brain stop for a moment, fleeing from any idea that could elicit such coldness from Mitch.

“But, but if it’d help-”

“If fucking I give into it I become more-” Mitch snaps his mouth shut, fingers trembling. “If I do that... I just feel like I get less human, like it’s even harder to resist the next time I’m changed.”

“How can I help you resist, then?”

“By going back to bed and sleeping ‘til I’m not like this.”

“I want to actually help,” he pouts, folding his arms tightly

“You have no idea what you’re doing to me, do you?” Mitch chuckles humorlessly. His laugh is dark, but Jonas is unimpressed. He just scoffs and rolls his eyes, extending a hand palm-up to Mitch. Mitch gives it one look and shakes his head, pressing himself against the wall tighter. “I can hear everything Jonas. I can smell everything. The blood pulsing in your wrists. The sweat on the back of your neck. Your lungs filling up.”

Mitch is talking quickly now, his hands tight and knee pulled up to his chest. Jonas doesn’t even pretend to understand what any of this means or why Mitch is babbling again, but he ignores it as he crawls closer. Mitch lets is happen this time, and Jonas settles near his thigh, kneeling on the cold floor with the blanket draped around himself.

“What else?” He inquires, and Mitch shuts his eyes in frustration.

“What do you mean.”

“What else do you smell?” Jonas inches closer, pushing his open hand towards Mitch who does nothing but stare at it angrily.

“I don’t know what you’re doing, Joey.”

“I... am kind of your prey right now. If you have an instinct to hunt, I’m right here. Slow and vulnerable,” Mitch is studying his face, fear growing in his eyes as Jonas speaks, “And if you can resist me, even when I’m right here, you’re more human than you think.”

“Why are you doing this?” Mitch says breathlessly, not moving as Jonas pushes his hand further, curling it around Mitch’s cheek.

“I’m helping.”

“You’re gonna kill me,” Mitch squeezes his eyes shut and groans, but turns to press his face into the palm of Jonas’ hand, inhaling deeply and then exhaling unsteadily with a near-silent, _“Fuck.”_

“I’m-”

“You smell incredible,” Mitch doesn’t seem to even realize he’d spoken, his nose dragging along Jonas’ index finger. His open lips skirt along Jonas’ palm then down to the heel of his hand, and Mitch’s fingers come up to curl around Jonas’ wrist, to anchor Jonas’ hand against him. His grip is soft and gentle but seems terribly restrained based on the shaking of his muscles. Jonas’ chest begins to burn hotly as he feels Mitch’s warm, wet breath against his skin.

“Like...?”

“God, _you_ ,” Mitch grunts, curling his fingers around Jonas’ and pressing the bridge of his nose into the back of his hand. “Clean. Soft. Kinda yeasty, some cinnamon,” Jonas giggles at that, causing Mitch to breathe out a laugh too, “Joey, _fuck.”_

He doesn’t respond. He doesn’t need to. It’s so real, visceral and primal, the feeling of Mitch’s thigh pressed against Jonas’ knees and his lips pressed against Jonas’ palm, both of them shaking just slightly for two entirely different but painfully similar reasons. Jonas’ desire feels uncontainable, released as quick breaths and flushed skin as Mitch drags Jonas’ hand down and the wetness of his lower lip nearly causes Jonas to faint.

They stay like that for some time, breathing heavily as the fire dies, so close but their contact still so guarded. Jonas is burning, about to combust as Mitch’s eyebrows furrow tightly under his fingertips. Mitch finally speaks, his lips moving softly along the heel of Jonas’ palm.

“Your pulse is so fast,” he says in a strangled voice.

Jonas knows what that means. If Mitch’s senses are as sharp as he says, he can smell Jonas’ arousal. He can feel it beneath his lips. He can hear it. Mitch’s face is unreadable, screwed up beneath Jonas’ palm, but he can’t seem to stop moving his lips and nose over Jonas’ digits.

Jonas opens his mouth to speak, but nothing comes out aside from a breathless, nearly inaudible gasp as Mitch reels away from him. Jonas searches his horror-stricken face before he looks down at his hand, where a tiny bead of blood is gathering from a pinpoint wound on his middle finger. One of Mitch’s big hands is over his mouth, shock and fear and shame flickering across his face as he stares at Jonas in terror.

“Mitch-”

“I hurt you. I- I hurt you.”

Mitch stares at him, wide-eyed and afraid, quaking with guilt. Jonas looks to his hand, back up to Mitch, and back down again. And then he snickers.

And then he laughs, starting slow at first but growing exponentially, so loud it’s beyond abrasive in the quiet, dark cottage. He laughs so hard he can’t breathe, his chest seizing and side flaring in pain as he clutches at it, unable to stop. Mitch is staring at him like he’s an absolute maniac, fear still present in his eyes. Jonas tries to start a sentence, but is overtaken again by laughter. It gets to the point where he’s breathless and voiceless, shoulders jumping as he feels tears start to well in his eyes, his head light from his fast breaths.

“Oh my goodness,” he sniffles, wiping a tear from his eye and looking up towards the ceiling as his words devolve into breathy giggles, “Mitch, I- I can’t, God I’m gonna start again. That’s- you- oh my goodness.”

“What?” Mitch’s voice isn’t harsh, but it is guarded. Jonas cocks an eyebrow and presents his hand out straight.

“Really? Really. I mean- I’m sorry, but how weak do you think I _am_?”

“You’re bleeding,” Mitch states firmly, brow still wrinkled in worry. Jonas rolls his eyes, smile still present, and licks the little bead of red away quickly. He turns his hand back and cocks his head.

“Not anymore. You just caught me with one of your teeth, I know you didn’t mean it. And look, you probably can’t even see the cut-”

“Middle finger, at the apex of your fingerprint, 23 ridges from the middle of the print.” Mitch narrows his eyes. “’bout the size of a quill’s tip.”

“No fair,” Jonas counters, still grinning. Mitch’s face seems to soften against his will. He stays back, leaning away from Jonas, tall ears ducked low in shame. “Mitch, come on. I’m serious. I’m not upset.”

“I know you aren’t but don’t mean _I_ ain’t,” he grumbles, almost to himself. Jonas just stares at him until he lifts his head up. “But you... did help. So thanks. And go back to bed,” he adds as Jonas yawns. Jonas nods in concession but doesn’t move, still kneeling with the blanket around his shoulders, before Mitch nudges him with his knee.

“Yer fallin’ asleep sittin’ up,” Mitch chuckles, and Jonas nods again, standing. He’s almost thankful for their little accident, which managed to sufficiently distract him enough to calm down and avoid any awkwardness that would be entirely unavoidable if he were forced to stand up about 30 seconds ago. He shuffles to the door then turns, looking back at Mitch.

“Goodnight.” His heart stammers as Mitch cracks a small smile.

“Night, Joey.”

Something has undeniably changed between them, Jonas notices in the morning. Not immediately, though, because Mitch doesn’t return until almost the afternoon with a couple of hares he’d hunted for dinner. Jonas had protested him going outside, scolding him for putting himself in danger, starting to go off on a rather cathartic rant before Mitch locks the back door and crosses the room. He claps a hand over Jonas mouth and leans down.

“Relax, Spots,” he coos smoothly, but his voice is betrayed by the nervous smile and blush adorning his face. His hand slides down to grip Jonas’ chin for a moment before he stands and walks past. Mitch returns with a shirt which he tosses to Jonas, who is still caught in the fight against internally combusting from Mitch’s little move.

But the prospect of changing is almost enough to make him cry in elation because he’s still wearing his musty, slept-in, dirt-and-mud-and-blood-stained garment from the other night which is far more uncomfortable than he cares to admit. The cotton of Mitch’s shirt is clean(ish) and soft, and Jonas sighs into it as he changes in the bedroom. Mitch gives him a shy grin when he emerges, settling which his arms crossed and back against the counter.

“Thank you. I really needed this,” Jonas says as he passes, pulling a jar of flour from the cupboard.

“Yeah, yeah. It, uh. It looks nice,” Mitch says quickly, and Jonas nearly drops the box of salt he’s fishing from the cabinets.

“It- what?”

“Are you baking? I’ll go and stoke the fire,” Mitch says just as hurriedly, ducking away into the living room. Jonas won’t actually need the fire for another couple of hours but he doesn’t protest, just remains frozen. Mitch isn’t like himself. He’s usually all confidence, big movements and loud words and just general exuberance but today he seems....

How does he seem? Different, for sure, Jonas notes as he looks over to where Mitch is crouched, kindling in hand. Shy? Not exactly. Vulnerable, certainly, but who wouldn’t be after what they did last night?

Mitch turns and their eyes meet for a moment before they both turn away quickly, back to their work, and Jonas squeezes his eyes shut. Maybe what happened last night meant more than he’d thought. Which isn’t a bad thing, unless he wants to take into account the fact that Mitch could probably smell and sense just how much it meant to Jonas and exactly what it did to him. But Mitch doesn’t seem disgusted or distant, so maybe he didn’t realize.

But maybe he did.

Jonas shakes his head roughly. He can’t afford to think like that anymore. No more fantasizing and daydreaming, none of that. Though Mitch seems positively set, whether consciously or unconsciously, on sending Jonas into dream world as he walks quietly back into the kitchen and presses his hand into Jonas’ side gently.

“I forgot to ask how you feel,” he says sheepishly. Jonas practically ignites.

Feel about what? What they did? He did notice, oh good Jesus Lord in heaven, why is he asking about it? And what is that look, why does he have that smile that kills Jonas, he’s positively destroying him and he knows-

“You shouldn’t be standin’ if your ribs still hurt... I thought they were just bruised but I coulda been wrong,” Mitch says, pulling his hand away.

Oh.

Why is that disappointment blooming in his chest?

“I’m fine,” Jonas squeaks, his voice hoarse. He clears his throat, “Really, just fine. Almost back to normal.” Mitch beams and Jonas wants to melt into a puddle once more.

“Good,” Mitch says with painfully honest conviction. “What’re you makin’?”

“I found some dried cranberries, so I’m gonna make cranberry walnut rolls,” Jonas says, staring down at the yeast he’s measuring. Mitch hums his approval.

“Can I watch?” he asks quietly. He’s never asked before. He always just does, and Jonas allows him to happily, so why does he even feel the need to ask?

“Well, I do need some help,” Jonas lies without looking away from his measurements. Mitch slides closer as Jonas explains how he needs to sift the flour, his hand resting against Jonas’ back. They stand like that all day, elbow to elbow at the countertop preparing their food, as the gray sky begins to grow darker, afternoon turning to evening as they finally eat.

Its nearly painful, the domesticity of it all, because it’s so positively them. They lean against the counter to eat dinner, not bothering to use plates but instead just sharing bites right off the pans they’d cooked their meal on. Mitch tells him stories of when he was a kid, all the hijinks he used to get into, laughing around a bite of bread and Jonas aches. He could sustain himself for hundreds of years on the joy he feels right now. The terrible, horrible joy which makes him feel as if he’s floating as he admits to himself, for the first time, that he’s almost certain he _is_ in love.

In love with the man next to him who grins when his story sends Jonas into uproarious laughter, who he forgets is a werewolf and tormented and in grave danger.

Jonas loses all resolve. He doesn’t know how much time he has left to fantasize about Mitch’s eyes crinkling as he smiles and his cackling laugh and the way his hands fly as he speaks. So he gives in, willingly, to his heart and his head begging him to fall harder- and he does.

The fire seems to roar as it crackles, heating the entire house and amplifying the smells of the remaining roast and bread. Mitch is gathering their baking dishes, and from the corner of his eye Jonas can see him never looking away, always staring at Jonas from his spot near the dish basin. Jonas turns and proudly presents Mitch with a bundle of leftover bread.

“Thanks,” Mitch says with that soft, gentle smile. He places it on the counter behind him, never turning away from Jonas but rather inching closer, just slightly. “I should thank you for everything.”

“It’s only bread,” Jonas teases with a wink, and Mitch lets out a single breathy chuckle through his nose.

“To be fair, it’s damn good bread,” he smiles larger as Jonas laughs. “But I don’t mean thanks for the bread. Thank you for... staying.”

“Oh,” Jonas breathes, “it was nothing. I mean, I had to force you to let me stay. I-I didn’t even really-”

“Nah, it wasn’t nothing. To me.” Mitch says hastily, rubbing at the back of his neck as he always does, but doesn’t tear his eyes away from Jonas. They’re searching, wide and vulnerable in the fire’s light.

“Nice not to be alone?” The words come out so much softer than Jonas expected, but he doesn’t need to speak up. Mitch is close, so very close, the mass of his body inches from him. It’s inevitable they’d be this near to each other in the confinement of the tiny kitchen, and they’re fairly familiar with this newfound physicality between them, but Jonas knows something is different in Mitch. He’s close enough to tell by the pace of Mitch’s breath, the way his arms are crossed against his chest, the way his eyelids drop. He can feel the warmth radiating off Mitch’s skin.

“I guess, kinda.” Mitch’s voice has dropped too. “Nicer to be with you, though.” The kitchen suddenly feels smaller, somehow even more intimate, with Mitch leaned up against the counter and Jonas practically between his legs. Mitch only stares down at Jonas, seemingly ready to engulf the smaller man, who matches his soft smile and nods while picking nervously at his cuticles.

“Yeah. It is.” The silence which comes after his words is simultaneously charged and calm. There’s something there, vibrating like an earthquake beneath the surface of the two of them, but Jonas feels so content with the quiet he can’t seem to place whatever it is that’s making his heart beat so fast. The pause lasts until Mitch breaks it, his words even and quiet.

“You should get to bed,” he lifts a hand to brush one of Jonas’ locks away from his forehead, and Jonas fights every urge inside him not to turn his face just so and kiss the inside of the thin wrist near his temple. He wishes he could, his heart racing faster as he stares up at Mitch’s face and watches the fire cast dancing orange and black shadows across his skin.

That earthquake beneath them threatens to shake Jonas down, reduce him to rubble under Mitch’s gaze, level him completely. Jonas has never ached so badly. The straining around his heart nearly takes his breath away, resolve crumbling like mortar under the quake’s violence. There isn’t time for this anymore. The villagers, his family, Tom, they’re all out there and all undoubtedly searching for he and Mitch. They could be dead tomorrow. They could be dead within the _hour._ The imminence of it all- their discovery, accusations, fear, even death- disappears under the earthquake inside him. Inside both of them.

It’s undeniable, it’s there, and there’s no time left to let it go unspoken.

“You-” Jonas starts, but the words catch in his throat. With a wavering breath, he tries once more. “You should come with me.”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m gonna,” Mitch says through a yawn, “I’m gonna pass right the fuck out the second my ass hits that couch.” Jonas’ skin, which had lit on fire for only a second, cools instantly.

“Wouldn’t you be more comfortable in, uh- in _bed?_ ”

“You’re my guest, Joey, I wouldn’t make you take the couch.” Mitch waves him off with the hand that’s not absentmindedly playing with his curls. He resists the urge to groan as his shoulders slump, defeat licking down his spine.

“What I’m- I’m trying to say is we wouldn’t. You wouldn’t have to sleep on the couch.” The realization doesn’t spark in Mitch’s half-lidded eyes, so he blurts out, “No one would have to sleep on the couch if you really came to bed. With me.”

“Oh,” Mitch says to himself, and finally his eyes widen as he says with more finality, _“Oh.”_

“Yeah,” Jonas says, staring at the way Mitch’s chest stills in the worn, dirty linen of his tunic. The hand drops from his hair and he winces. It isn’t that he meant it in... _that_ way. Just the opposite. Its intentions had been purely innocent, Jonas just wanted to Mitch to actually _sleep_ with him but when it came out it sounded rather indecent. And what’s worse is that Jonas is pretty sure he’d be keen on either option Mitch could interpret it as- sleeping or... not sleeping.

“Joey,” the way Mitch says his name makes nerves prickle at the back of Jonas’ neck, and not in a good way. His voice is far beyond cautious, even beyond warning. It sounds afraid. “It’s getting late.”

“Not that late... sun’s just gone down... hours from midnight...” he trails off, his voice growing softer with every word as his face burns almost painfully. The fire-bred warmth of the room is becoming stifling quickly.

“Still too late. Too close.” Mitch’s voice is loud. Firm. Guarded. Jonas’ throat clenches. 

“But... but just last night-”

“That doesn’t matter. This is different.”

“Okay. I’m sorry,” he isn’t sure exactly why it slips out, but it’s all he can think of to say. His face is so hot with shame, his heart pounding with dread, “If- if you really don’t want to come to bed with me, just spare me the embarrassment and tell me. I’ve made enough of a fool of myself, I don’t need you making a fool of me too by making excuses.”

The words burn like acid against the back of his tongue, his breathing becoming quick with the threat of frustrated, ashamed tears. He pushes away from Mitch, away from the intimate little bubble they’d formed, and stalks towards the bedroom.

“No, no, _wait,_ ” Mitch protests but Jonas shrugs off the hand which scrabbles for his shoulder, yanking his body away. His eyes are blurry with anger and shame and self-loathing as he tries again to shake Mitch’s fingers off, but they grip firmly this time. “Please, no, I want to but it’s late and when it’s late I’m dangerous-”

“You always say that. You’ve overused that excuse, and it’s a _bad_ one. Why don’t you start telling the truth?”

“I am,” Mitch please, his voice cracking in his desperation, “You’ve _seen_ it, I’ve _told_ you, you _know.”_

“Show me, then.” He sets his jaw tightly as Mitch rears back, eyebrows knit together. “Well? Show me. Rip me to pieces. Tear my throat out. Go ahead and do it. You haven’t on any of the other nights but what’s stopping you now, huh?”

“I- you- are you fucking _kidding_ me? Don’t say that shit, Joey.”

“Why not? Because it’ll make you mad? Because it’ll make you hurt me? Because you’re oh-so dangerous?”

“Yes- fuck- no,” Mitch yells, bringing his hands to his own thick hair and raking through it. “Stop, stop, I wouldn’t hurt you.”

“Then you’re not dangerous to me! How many times will we fight about this?”

“As many fucking times as it takes you to understand. God damn it, I _am_ , I can’t be trusted. I am,” his voice is broken and strangled, his knuckles going white as he grips his hair harder.

“If you were so dangerous, you would’ve killed me the minute I found you that night in the forest,” Jonas yells, taking a step and crying out between his teeth in anger when Mitch steps away, repelled. It’s a low blow, the lowest, he knows that. Mitch’s forearms flex as his fingers curl into tight fists.

 “I wouldn’t, ever. Never.”

“Then why do you act like you would?”

“I have no control. I can’t lose you, it can’t be my _fault,_ ” he chokes around the words and Jonas freezes.

“You’re not the monster you think you are,” Jonas lowers his voice, crossing the space between them, quickly and gently pulling Mitch’s hands away, curling his fingers around them. “When I found you, in the clearing, what did you think? During the storm.” For a long time, Mitch doesn’t answer. Jonas grips his hands tighter. “What did you think?”

Mitch looks at him desperately, but doesn’t respond.

“You weren’t angry,” Jonas says indignantly, “You didn’t hurt me. You wouldn’t have.”

“No,” Mitch’s shoulders slump, and he finally manages to lift his eyes to look at Jonas. “No. I was so fucking scared of you seein’ me like that, scared that you’d...” he trails off, sealing his lips tightly.

“I know that. And so do you. You are not a monster Mitch. I’m not afraid of you.”

“There’s more you should know about me.” His words are so quiet, so nearly inaudible as the fire pops loudly, but Jonas doesn’t waver. He stares at Mitch expectantly. “I... God, _shit._ I....” he just shakes his head.

“It’s okay,” Jonas reassures, but Mitch’s face screws up with anguish.

“No, no it’s not, Joey. I...” he groans in frustration. “You’re the first person I’ve spent any time with for 8 years, so I don’t want you thinking I want you around just ‘cuz I’m lonely. I’m- I mean I’m not lonely. Not when I’m with you. But you’re also the only person I ever, y’know... _felt_ like this about. I dunno, I’m just fuckin’ bad at this shit and I just, I mean if you don’t feel the same-”

“I’m in love with you.”

Jonas’ heart begins to pound furiously as Mitch’s body goes limp and his eyes go wide. He swallows, “I am. I think I might’ve fallen in love with you the first day we met.”

Mitch is shaking his head slowly, eyes still locked on him, and closes he space between them carefully.

“But... but still? Even after you saw me, saw what I am? Know what I’ve done?”

“Still.”

“Still,” Mitch echoes breathlessly. He brings his hands slowly to Jonas’ face, cradling his cheeks while his long fingers wrap around his ears and into his hair. “Are you sure? I just... I can’t believe that you would, I mean _you-_ ”

“I am. I’m sure. I dream about you almost every night.”

“I’ve dreamt about you, too.”

“Good dreams?” Jonas’ voice hitches as Mitch leans down, pressing their foreheads together.

“Yeah. Real good.”

 “Oh,” Jonas breathes, and Mitch hums out a noise of confirmation. He shifts, and Jonas can feel Mitch’s eyelashes against the apple of his cheek as long fingers tighten around his face. Mitch’s lips brush against his cheek and over the tip of his nose before the hands on his face coax him back slightly. The ghost of Mitch’s lips skirt gently along his before Mitch pulls away just slightly and Jonas can’t take it anymore. He tosses his arms up and around Mitch’s neck, rising to his tiptoes and closing the space between them with a slow kiss. They break and kiss once more. Then another. Another again and Jonas’ breathing is beginning to quicken only slightly. Mitch curls around him, fingers threading through his hair and dropping, inching down the curve of his spine to settle at the small of his back. His hand guides Jonas’ hips forward to press their bodies together. He gasps into Mitch’s mouth, whimpering when his warm tongue makes its way against his lower lip.

Jonas is engulfed. Mitch is all around him, his hands, his lips, the scent of his skin, the heat of his breath are all that seem to exist as Jonas begins to burn. In so many ways it’s so different from his dreams. In his dreams, Mitch is all sweet nothings and whispered words, but here he’s action. He’s the hand threaded into Jonas’ curls, the nose brushing against Jonas’ cheek, the teeth against his lip. He’s the firm, reassuring arms wrapped around Jonas so tightly that say more than words ever could. And Mitch doesn’t have to say any words, none at all, because Jonas knows.

Mitch loves him.

Mitch _wants_ him.

Suddenly he feels hotter. Wilder. He feels the skim of Mitch’s teeth and he pulls him, fingernails digging into his shoulders. They stumble a few steps, attached from their lips to their knees, until Jonas bumps into the table. Without hesitation Mitch lifts him under the arms and onto the table, kissing him and nuzzling into his laughter with a force that sends Jonas back until he’s laid out on the oak. Mitch is bent over him, hips securely against his in the most distracting way, running his hands along the hem of Jonas’ shirt. Jonas makes a noise of discontent when Mitch pulls away but is silenced as he feels the drag of Mitch’s teeth along the tender flesh under his jaw.

“This isn’t real,” Mitch breathes against his neck.

“Don’t tell me that,” he says through a whine as Mitch grates his teeth against the skin of his freckled neck once more.

“Shit, it _can’t_ be. You taste so good, you feel _so_ _good_ ,” Mitch’s words are punctuated by a groan as Jonas squirms beneath him, rutting his hips up just slightly. It’s all hands, sliding up his shirt and through his hair and over his thighs as Mitch grinds down, lips moving over him and reducing him to gasps.

“Oh God,” Jonas squeaks as Mitch unbuttons the top fasten of his shirt to nibble at his neck. The next two buttons come undone and Jonas’ fingers are pulling at the fabric, clawing it off his skin to expose his chest to Mitch, who makes a noise low in his throat.

“Can I?” It’s breathless, unbelieving, and Jonas musters up a nod. Mitch kisses the dip at the base of his neck, down his sternum, and then with caution slowly moves up, staring up while his mouth gently engulfs one of Jonas’ nipples.

It’s immediate electricity, shock waves course through his nerves down to the warmth settled in his pelvis as he threads his fingers into Mitch’s hair. His head is tossed back, mouth open and ready to gasp, but he can’t breathe. He feels the brush of Mitch’s tongue and the hint of his teeth and he wants to beg, he wants to ask for more, wants to cry out but he’s breathless at the feeling of Mitch teasing him and grinding down.

Mitch is relentless, chasing Jonas chest up when he arches his back, groaning when Jonas’ fingers tighten, sliding those tough palms up under Jonas’ shirt to caress his naked skin. Jonas brings a hand up cautiously, running his fingers over his neglected nipple as Mitch continues to lap at the other. Mitch’s eyes flicker over to his hand and his mouth stops moving, it goes agape as he pulls back to watch. Jonas doesn’t stop the slow roll of his fingers around the stiff bud until Mitch makes a noise like he’s wounded.

“Show me.”

“Show you? Show you what?” Jonas asks softly, not knowing why he’s even asking, knowing fully well he’s going to do whatever Mitch wants.

“I want you to show me what you do when you dream about me,” he says breathlessly. Jonas goes red from his belly to his forehead but nods stiffly, letting Mitch undo the rest of the buttons on his shirt. He struggles out of it as he kicks his shoes off, swallowing as he feels Mitch’s fingers press into the flesh of his stomach as his trousers are unbuttoned. Jonas can’t help but squeeze his eyes shut when his trousers are pulled off, leaving him in his flimsy pair of linen shorts which he knows leave nothing to the imagination.

It’s different than in his dreams, laid out here on the table, exposed, all for Mitch. He’s not embarrassed. He doesn’t feel dirty. If anything he’s more shy. Even feeling a bit powerful when he dares to crack open his eyes to take in his woodsman, both arms planted around him to cage him in, slack-jawed and wide-eyed as his eyes trail over Jonas’ body. Jonas shifts his hips, painfully hard at the thought of Mitch watching him, and the amber eyes dragging over him stop. Mitch is staring unabashedly at his covered erection, which has leaked a little wet patch onto his shorts.

“Please,” is all Mitch can muster in a strangled voice, eyes flickering up to Jonas’ face. There’s so much want, so much desire and hunger in his eyes that Jonas trembles and pushes his shorts down without thinking twice.

And for a moment, nothing. Nothing but the sound of their labored breath and the crackling fire until Mitch brings his hands up slowly, presses his fingertips gently against Jonas’ thighs and drags his shorts off, discarding them to the floor. Mitch’s fingers shake against his skin and Jonas’ heart begins to flutter.

“Is it okay?” he whispers, but he knows it is, because Mitch seems to be completely entranced staring down at his body. It’s euphoric, absolutely intoxicating to feel wanted. His head feels light.

“You...” Mitch is lost, still grazing the pads of his fingers over Jonas slowly, up his stomach over the gentle swell of his belly. “I know this isn’t real. It can’t be, fuck, _look at you_.”

“What?” an edge of concern makes it into his voice, but Mitch doesn’t seem to notice.

“I mean, shit, look at your _thighs_ ,” his palms lay flat against them and slide upward softly, “fucking hell, those little freckles. Those little fucking stretch marks,” he traces his hands over Jonas’ stomach and stops, “baby... your _cock_ ,” and he makes a strangled noise, bringing one hand away to bite down on his knuckles as the other still trembles against Jonas.

“Mitch,” Jonas starts, inching up on his elbows and making a soft noise of desperation. Mitch complies, leaning over him and kissing him with a groan.

“Show me, Joey, _please_ , I wanna see you touch this beautiful little body a’ yours,” He mumbles through the kiss. Jonas brings one hand to the back of Mitch’s neck as he leans back, feeling his curls splay out beneath his head while his other hand trails softly down to his pelvis. Mitch follows it with his eyes all the way down, chest jumping with fast breaths.

Finally, Jonas wraps a fist around his aching cock and strokes once, and Mitch looks as if he’s died.

His eyes dart quickly to Jonas’ face, breaking from incredulity to want as Jonas whimpers softly, pumping his fingers down his hardness. Mitch is still leaned over him, hips still dangerously close to Jonas’ exposed body, long arms stiff and straight as they cage him in. Jonas feels like gold under his gaze, like treasure when Mitch groans out his name. He wants to feel good, wants Mitch to feel good, wants Mitch to want him with the most animalistic part of himself and he knows how to make it happen.

When he nudges Mitch with his knees, begins to bring them up slowly and plant his feet on the table, dropping his hand from the back of Mitch’s neck and timidly sliding two fingers into his mouth, Mitch goes rigid.

“No,” he breathes in absolute disbelief, watching Jonas suck his fingers softly. He stands, gripping Jonas’ knee with one hand as the other moves to the bulge straining against his pants. He palms over himself roughly, tense, watching Jonas’ every move as the smaller man spreads his freckled thighs slightly, still tugging at his cock.

He pulls the fingers from his mouth with a small, wet noise, and Mitch shudders. Mitch’s hand is in his trousers now; Jonas watches it move beneath he fabric in quick, jerking strokes.

“I wanna see,” he begs meekly, his wet hand resting against his thigh, biting his lower lip hard enough to hurt as Mitch fumbles his pants off and around the muscles of his thighs.

Jonas whimpers at the sight of him, big and solid and strong in the fire’s glow, feeling like a harlot as his mouth begins water. He can’t take it, the searing heat of his body is too much, so he runs his fingers down and gently swipes them over his entrance.

He goes red as he and Mitch cry out at the same time, Mitch’s knees go weak and bend slightly as he catches the table, never stopping the fluid movement of his hips, thrusting into his fist. Jonas rubs quick circles over his hole, whimpering, squirming, moaning, putting on a show for Mitch. When Jonas plants his heels against the table and rolls his hips upward, fucking into his hand while he rubs over his hole, Mitch shatters.

“I need you,” his voice is desperate and honest, “I need to touch you.” All Jonas can do is nod, voice caught in the thick warm air as Mitch looms over him, curls around him and picks him up.

They fall back onto the couch and the rickety old thing protests against their weight, but Jonas can’t hear a single sound aside from the hitch in Mitch’s breath when he sits back and settles Jonas onto his lap. Jonas adjusts his thighs, pressing them tighter into Mitch’s as big hands make their way to him. Mitch secures one hand against the back of his neck, pulling his face down to press their noses together and the other firmly squeezes his ass.

Mitch’s hand pulls forward, and with a sharp gasp presses their bodies together. Embarrassed, flushed and hot, Jonas slaps a hand over his mouth to try and stop the noises from tumbling out. It’s futile, and Mitch’s name makes its way out of his mouth over and over like a song as the larger man rocks his hips up softly and guides Jonas’ down to meet them in a fluid rhythm.

“God, why are you still dressed?” Jonas whimpers, fingers clawing at Mitch’s tunic and pulling the fabric up. Mitch seems reluctant to let him go but he concedes, lifting his arms and allowing Jonas to tug off his shirt. The second he’s free his hands are back, both now anchored on Jonas’ ass, pulling their bodies together and grinding up like an animal in heat. Jonas splays his hands down, palms flat across the planes of Mitch’s pectorals, tossing his head back and working his hips forward.

His pelvis burns, cock aching as Mitch’s erection presses up into his, flesh searing from where Mitch grips it. Sinking his blunt nails into Mitch’s skin Jonas braces himself, rutting against him shamelessly, biting his lip hard in desperation for the friction against his dick. Finally, Mitch’s hand makes its way between them and in a cautious movement wraps them both up. Jonas gasps, tossing his head forward and pressing his forehead against Mitch’s collarbone.

He can’t help but stare down, mouth watering, watching the head of his cock disappear in Mitch’s tight grip as his fist strokes over them. Mitch doesn’t even stroke himself all the way, moving his big palm up and down only enough to rub over Jonas’ dripping erection, making him shiver and whimper and whine. It’s madness, the feeling of Mitch’s hand on one side and his dick pressed up against the other, and Jonas is sure he’s making some pathetic kinds of noises but he can only hear a single sound.

Mitch’s grunting, that inebriating groaning into his ear, is made so much more torturous because those groans come out in the form of his name. Mitch is just as enraptured as he is, rendered totally incapable of doing anything but groaning his name like a prayer and rubbing his big thumb over Jonas’ leaking tip. Without thinking Jonas begins to move, thrusting his hips up in time with Mitch’s strokes, creating a friction that has him sobbing into Mitch’s chest.

“Joey, beautiful, c’mon. That’s it baby. That’s it,” Mitch’s voice is broken, begging and desperate, and Jonas cries out. With the hand that isn’t working over them, Mitch twines his fingers through Jonas curls, urging him up for a ravaging kiss. It’s filled with the click of their teeth, the taste of Mitch’s spit, the heat of his tongue and Jonas is gone. He’s gone into a realm where only Mitch and Mitch alone exists, waiting for his body to catch up.

“Oh God, you’re too much. It’s too good,” Jonas whimpers, shuddering against Mitch’s chest.

“Joey, _please.”_

And that’s all it takes. The prospect of Mitch begging him to cum, the feeling of his warm palm and even warmer cock against him, the sight of precum leaking from the both of them and slicking Mitch’s movements had him close. But the look in Mitch’s eyes, need and adoration, his him there.

He crashes over the edge like tidal wave, shuddering as his pelvis contracts in time with Mitch’s strokes, crying out Mitch’s name as a few unchecked tears leak from the corner of his eyes. Only then does Mitch finish, too, with his stomach painted with Jonas’ cum his hips buck up almost meanly, Jonas’ oversensitive cock still caught in his movements. He barks out curses and that mantra, like a prayer, like he’s singing his name, “Joey, Joey, Joey,” as he throws his head back. Their bodies rock together in an ever-slowing pace until Jonas finally collapses into Mitch’s chest fully, ignoring the feeling of stickiness on his skin, sighing into Mitch’s neck. Before he can say anything, even before their breath has returned to normal Mitch leans down.

“I love you,” he mumbles into Jonas’ temple, and Jonas becomes liquid. Mitch’s arm wraps around him, thumb stroking across his shoulder blade as they come down from their high. Their bodies press closer together with each slowing breath, and Jonas takes a moment to inhale the scent of Mitch’s skin. He leans back only slightly to catch Mitch in a kiss, slow and sweet, before he sits back fully.

“Ew,” he wrinkles his nose, staring down at their stomachs, and Mitch chuckles.

“Y’wanna take a bath?”

“Definitely,” Jonas sighs, leaning back down for another kiss. They almost lose themselves in each other, lips languid and hands slow, until Jonas shivers and Mitch smiles again. He leans down, his hand protectively anchored against Jonas’ back, and plucks an itchy wool blanket they’d pushed off the couch from the floor. Jonas pouts, but Mitch still looks at him like he’s the sun.

“I know you hate this one but I want ya to stay warm while I’m gone,” Mitch hums, and Jonas could drown in the sound of his voice. He leans into Mitch’s chest, cheek against his sharp clavicle as Mitch wraps the blanket around his shoulders and slides out from underneath him. He settles back onto the couch, eyeing Mitch’s legs as the taller man discards his pants into a pile on the floor. Despite the scratchiness of the fabric, Jonas snuggles into the warmth of the blanket as he watches Mitch stand, rolling his shoulders and pushing his hair back as he walks, bare feet making soft noises with each step.

Jonas watches him the entire way to the bedroom, trying to memorize every angle and curve, curling into the blanket tighter. He stares at Mitch’s back as the tall man bends, pulling the basin from off the fire, the muscles in his shoulders taught and straining. He pours the water into the wooden tub slowly, biceps flexing in the fire’s glow, and his eyes flicker up to Jonas. A small smile spreads across his lips.

“C’mere,” he says, opening his arms and tossing the heavy basin to the side. Jonas is up and across the room and curled into Mitch’s arm before he can even think to respond. He drops the blanket and slowly steps into the tub, shuddering at the heat of the water against his skin. When he settles in, Mitch drops down behind him, their bodies causing the tub water to overflow and splash onto the floorboards. Mitch doesn’t seem to care in the slightest as he presses his nose into the back of Jonas neck and inhales. His exhaled sigh is pressed into Jonas’ shoulder, his mouth kissing at the freckles there as his big arms wind around Jonas’ middle.

Jonas has no choice but to lean back and close his eyes, reveling in the feeling of Mitch’s body behind him and his lips pressed into his hair. He pets Mitch’s knees, which are hiked up and sticking out of the water around him, in slow strokes. Mitch hums contently against him, nosing at the skin behind his ear. Mitch runs his big, wet hands through Jonas’ hair to, washes it gently with languid strokes. Jonas’ body is limp, head heavy as the steam form the water rises around them. He’s fighting sleep as he leans against Mitch, feeling hands stroke the skin of his chest softly.

Jonas’ thighs start to go numb so he shifts, hands firm against Mitch’s knees and back pressing into him further, closer, before he feels-

“Oh”

“I... sorry.”

“Already? Again?”

“Shit, I said I was sorry,” Mitch snorts but he actually looks fairly embarrassed when Jonas turns to look at him. With a wicked smirk he catches Mitch in a chaste kiss and holds his face there, speaking softly against his lips.

“Well you don’t need to apologize... I guess I should be flattered.”

“Or scared,” Mitch counters, and Jonas giggles.

“Mm. Maybe both,” he mumbles, groaning into Mitch’s mouth as big hands dip further down his body beneath the hot water, and its heaven all over again.

They don’t get out until the bath water has gone cold, probably even dirtier than before, but neither of them seem to mind very much. Mitch pulls a towel from the closet, wrapping it around his shoulders and pulling Jonas into it, enveloping him in the fabric as he kisses his forehead. Jonas leans his head against Mitch’s chest, savoring the warmth and the sound of his heartbeat before Mitch chuckles.

“Looks like ya got what ya wanted, Spots,” Mitch teases, pushing the towel over Jonas hair to dry it and pulling him onto the mattress. Jonas laughs as Mitch pulls him close and tosses the blanket over them, curling around him and holding him tightly.

“What do you mean?”

“I’m comin’ to bed with ya.”

He hums out a giggle. This is it. This is what he’d dreamed and imagined and pined for. Mitch is everything, words and actions and thoughts, lips and hands and breath, everything.

He’s everything.

The skim of Mitch’s fingertips across his naked skin is intoxicating. It’s so gentle, so kind, and accompanied by the way Mitch smiles down at him so incredibly lovesick it makes his chest pull. Mitch won’t stop kissing him so softly, all over, on his fluttering eyelids and parted lips and burning ears. They may be talking, or they may not, Jonas isn’t sure. But he is sure he hears the words Mitch says to him, sounding so certain as he whispers them, as honest as he’s ever been.

Jonas catches an “I love you,” against his shoulder as he turns, snuggling into the blankets as Mitch wraps him up from behind.

Mitch’s arms engulf him entirely, cheek coming to rest on his, and the words vibrate in his head as he hears, “You’re my world, Joey.”

Their fingers twine together, his hand is tugged up to Mitch’s lips and he feels them run against his knuckles, moving gently with a “Can’t believe your mine.”

The sweet nothings, everything to him, are whispered against the base of his skull before he turns, pressing his face into Mitch’s chest and savoring the pump of his heartbeat.

“Tell me this is forever,” Mitch begs. And he does, over and over between kisses, between Mitch running his nose over his jaw. He says those sweet nothings right back, the “I’m yours” filled with so much adoration, the “I’ve waited so long” bursting with devotion. Mitch’s fingertips are a constant force against him, anchoring him in this new reality beneath the heavy covers on the mangled mattress where he belongs to Mitch and Mitch belongs to him. It’s strange and surreal in the most incredible way that his dreams are tangible, heating the cold world he’s lived in for so long.

As the fire fades even further, the orange glow of embers the only source of light in the otherwise inky room, Jonas shifts. Mitch is curled against him, limbs heavy and protective thrown over him, pinning him down. His head nuzzles further into the crook of Jonas’ neck, body far too long for their current position as his feet hang over the edge of the bed. But he stays asleep, calm and quiet as his chest rises with even breaths,

Jonas doesn’t sleep. At all, almost. He’ll doze off intermittently for a few blissful moments, tangled in sheets and limbs and radiating warmth, before he startles awake again. So out of place, anxiety clenches in his chest as he wakes, present each and every time. Swallowing a noise of frustration, he presses the heels of his palms against his tired eyes.

Why? Why is he so filled with dread? This is without question the most wonderful moment of his life. He’s protected. He’s safe. He’s in love, and by some miracle he’s loved back. He should be filled with joy, and he is, but there’s that incessant fear which makes his chest ache. It’s wrong and out of place. It’s unwelcome, and he’s angry at himself for feeling anything other than elation.

Because this is it, this is his _dream._

But the thing about dreams is that they end.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh my god FINALLY 
> 
> THANK YOU FOR READING!! 2 more chapters left!


	6. Fate of the Damned

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> GOSH i'm glad i posted this before school started, thank you for waiting so patiently and i hope you enjoy! :))

The forest is dark, the air so still and cold that Jonas can practically hear the clouds move across the sky. With each step he takes he can hear footsteps behind him, matching his pace. The beat of his heart thudding against his ribcage grows nearly unbearable with every step, ears tuned to the footsteps following his own. He wants to turn around. Something tells him he shouldn’t. He keeps walking without much of a destination, steps slow but sure against the cold, frozen earth before he looks up from the ground.

He’s in Baybury. In the cemetery, more specifically. His heart clenches as he looks past the graves and headstones, at the pile of lost villagers Maddie had told him about. Next to a partially dug grave is another body, must be the gravedigger. He goes to step back but hits something with his foot, and he turns around.

Another body he doesn’t recognize. He tries to turn again but hits another, then another, realizing there’s a sea of corpses around his feet, slung over the graves, laid on the ground, surrounding him.

He chokes. He’s afraid. He’s suffocating. A voice which sounds miles away rings out, calls his name. It’s a familiar voice, one that rushes calm over him.

Sidney stands feet away from him, immersed in the sea of bodies, staring at him with empathetic eyes.

“Jonas,” she repeats in the same far-away voice, but this time follows it with, “Why?”

Why? Why what? Why who? He opens his mouth to speak but realizes he can’t.

“You could’ve saved them. You could’ve saved _me_ ,” she says, her eyes growing sadder.

“Saved you?” Jonas finally gasps. She nods, her shoulders low but there’s a smile on her face, one of pity.

“It’s okay,” she says, cooing as if he were a child. “It’s okay.” The feeling of dread pitting in his stomach tells him it most certainly is not okay.

“What do you mean? What do you mean save you?”

“Oh, Jojo,” she sounds truly devastated, as if she doesn’t want to shatter him. “Did you really think the monster wouldn’t eventually make his way to Sellwood?”

“No,” he pales. 

They’re not in the Baybury cemetery at all, he realizes. They’re in the Sellwood burial grounds, where hundreds of new gravestones have sprung from the soil. And slowly he begins to recognize the corpses around him as his neighbors, old classmates, and family friends. He recognizes every single one of them, stilling with the realization that there must be no survivors in Sellwood but he and Sidney. When he looks up, she’s gone, and as the sort of coldness which chills you to the very core begins to lick slowly up his spine he realizes she didn’t survive at all. She’s somewhere in this sea of bodies, amongst the masses of limbs and cloth, lost to time because he didn’t save her.

He could’ve saved her.

Jonas catapults himself up in bed, dragging in ragged breaths as his eyes grow blurry with frightened, confused tears. His chest twists and his stomach knots, fingers quaking violently against the covers from the horrific realness of his nightmare. He darts a hand out, searching for the security of Mitch’s big figure, but is greeted by an empty spot beside him. The rumpled sheets are cool to the touch, which means Mitch must have left and changed some time ago. He grabs Mitch’s pillow and presses his face into it, trying to muffle his frightened sobs and calm himself with Mitch’s smell. Falling to his side he curls into the soft down pillow, looseness settling in his limbs though his heart still thunders with panic.

He doesn’t let himself wallow for long, because he can’t ignore the tight dread still present in his chest. With determination, he swings himself out of bed, fumbling his clothes on and sweeping his cloak around his shoulders. He’s sure Mitch has heard him but he doesn’t care, he needs to do this for Sid. When he throws the door with great ceremony, so hard it slams into the wall and billows up a cloud of dust, he’s met with total darkness.

“I”m going back to Sellwood,” he declares loudly, with purpose, placing his hands on his hips.

There’s no answer.

Not that he’ll admit it, but he was expecting a fairly monstrous and possibly half-drunk Mitch on the couch to fling himself upward, dissenting loudly for a moment before he bent to Jonas’ will like he always did. Then Jonas would've had an escort with a much better fighting chance against the beast out there. That was his plan, at least, but there’s no movement in the dark.

It’s still. And silent. Mitch isn’t in the house, Jonas notices, creeping towards the back door. When his hands meet the knob in the dark, he realizes it’s barricaded from the inside. And for some reason that makes him feel even more uneasy than he did before. The darkness almost swallows him as his breathing grows just a bit quick as he decides he’s going to do this without Mitch.

He’s made it through the woods without getting caught before, right? 

Jonas lets out an unsteady breath, turning quickly and letting the foolish, hopefully unfounded fear take over and lead him out of the small cottage. He walks quickly through the wood, trying to stay near-silent aside from his footsteps crunching through the frost and heavy breaths. The woods look just like they did in his nightmare- frozen, cold, unmoving, inky black. It's unsettling, especially because each sound is amplified and brought to his attention, no matter how small or insignificant. The fear of whatever lurks in the dark burns beneath his skin, present and real as his still-stinging bruised ribs, but his fear of losing Sidney overshadows it easily. 

Sellwood is quiet in the darkness. Silent and still, seeming as empty as the cabin, and Jonas is both relieved and terrified. Maybe it’s peaceful, maybe it’s dead quiet. He has no way of knowing, pushing quickly up the path and stone steps of his home.

“Sidney!” He shouts, bursting through the door, letting moonlight pour into the warm house, and it’s only quiet for one more moment. Within seconds, Sue is plodding down the stairs quickly, her face shocked and hand laid over her heart.

“Oh, my God. _Jonas_ ,” she chokes out, wrapping her arms around him, pressing her cheek into his shoulder. “Oh honey, oh we thought- you didn’t come home. Why didn’t you come _home?_ ” She pulls him back to arm’s length, blotting at a tear at the corner of her eye.

“Where is Sidney? Has the monster been through here?”

“I- she- no... no, it hasn’t. Dean and Sidney left for Baybury at daybreak this morning when we got the news you hadn’t returned. Jonas, the villagers said you ran into the woods with that thing out there. What were you thinking? You’re lucky to be alive,” She’s starting to pass from relief into anger, and Jonas groans.

“I need to- to get to them. I need to take a horse to Baybury.”

“Jonas, it’s still out there, you can’t keep pushing your luck. We don’t even _have_ a horse-”

“Then in the morning I need you to tell the Knights I said thank you,” he says determinedly, spinning on his heel and back out the door. 

The Knight’s barn is adjacent to the workshop, and they have a sturdy young Shire horse named Barney, who enjoys grazing on thistle more than pulling the Knight’s brewery drays, but is fast enough to get him to Baybury. The animals shuffle uneasily as he bursts through the door and saddles a complacent Barney quickly, ignoring Sue’s shrill calls from the kitchen window. He hauls himself up, sweaty hands tightening around the reigns as he goads the young horse on.

Barney and his limitless energy start into an immediate canter, throwing Jonas back just slightly as they fly down the cobblestone path towards the tree line. Jonas presses himself down, digs his heels into the horse’s sides to hold on against the freezing wind lashing against his face as they burst onto the dirt path, the sound of pounding hooves echoing back at him.  It’s loud, and as he searches the dark forest for any hint of glowing eyes that could easily be either Mitch or Tom, something starts to settle in Jonas’ stomach like a toxic lump of lead.

Terror.

Because this isn’t like him. He’s not brave. He’s not strong. And he’s definitely not capable of fighting off a creature that has only grown more ruthless and bloodthirsty by the day. The heavy, methodical beat of the horse’s hooves must be like a beacon, calling the monster towards them, and Jonas is afraid. He’s more afraid than he’s ever been and he has no choice but to fight it and continue on, try and find his sister, try and manage the terror which can no longer be ignored. 

It brings him back to when they were just children, exploring a rocky quarry when Sidney had fallen and hurt herself, leaving Jonas alone to venture back home and retrieve help. The feeling of smallness, insignificance and vulnerability in the unfamiliar forest had nearly paralyzed him, but he trekked on until he saw the front steps of their home.

This isn’t the same, though, because instead of a scraped knee his sister could be dead, and that toxic lump of fear is ignited. He goads Barney on faster.

The journey is mere minutes on horseback, and Baybury looks even more derelict than it did just a day before. The smell of smoke and decay is thick in the air, the charred remains of homesteads visible up the hill against the silhouette of the moon. Even the shed Jonas was hoping to stash Barney in is half torched, so he elects instead to lead the horse behind the church into a small storehouse, just large enough for Jonas to push away jars of water waiting to be blessed and make room for the young horse, who sniffs curiously at Jonas’ hair as he ties the reigns to a post. The lump is still sitting into his stomach, pressing against his ribs, and it tells him he shouldn’t venture back out to the front doors. He presses his face against a small door, the service entrance, and calls out in a harsh whisper.

“Anyone? Anyone, please- Maddie? Pastor Cleary? I’m back,” he half-yells, freezing at the sound of a cracking branch on the far side of the church. Everything disappears but the sound, and Jonas stops breathing and blinking and living for a moment as he listens for another, closing his eyes and standing as still as humanly possible while still quaking like a leaf. The dusty, rickety door opens up just slightly, pushing him backwards before hands reach out and drag him inside, curled tight into his shirt. Then he’s engufled, wrapped in warmth and the familiar smell of safety, and he clings back into his sister so tightly they stumble.

“I hate you so fucking much Jonas, I’m not even joking,” Sidney sniffles, squeezing him tighter. “I’m not. I will never forgive you.”

“I know,” he says back, voice cracking and shaking but there’s no tears, no time for them, “I know. I’m sorry.”

“You’re goddamned right you’re sorry. I thought you were dead,” she says, words breaking with emotion. Her face is buried into his shoulder and he strokes her hair, too fast to be soothing but just fast enough to feel the texture beneath his fingers, familiar and comforting. Sidney, very much alive, finally pulls back to look at him, eyes puffy and red and nose shining. She almost never cries so it’s a surprising look on her, but not unsettling, and Jonas gives her a sheepish smile. She narrows her eyes in response, snorting loudly and wiping her nose on her sleeve.

“You didn’t,” she demands. Jonas pales at her tone.

“I didn’t- didn’t what?”

“Please tell me you didn’t run out there with that werewolf on the loose to save that _guy._ ”

“I didn’t!” Jonas protests truthfully, then deflates a bit as he follows it with a mumbled confession, “I was worried he’d been killed and I needed to know-”  And with those words Jonas realizes, for the first time, he’s left Mitch without any way of knowing he’s okay or where he’s gone, and he nearly faints.

“And actually, now that I know you’re alright, I need to go back,” he says hurriedly, voice pitching a bit in panic.

“What- _what?_ Do you know what this thing is doing? Are you insane?” Sidney says, her grip tightening on Jonas’ arms. 

“Yeah, I think I am,” he says, staring through her, “I-I had this _nightmare_ you were dead and I had to check on you and I left, I just left without- Mitch is- Mitch-”

“Jojo, he’ll be fine- Jonas? Jonas?” He can’t seem to locate the sound of her voice, his chest swirling with fear. His world is spinning, spiraling. Mitch is going to go berserk, panic, come to Sellwood or Baybury and rip the place apart to find him, to make sure he’s safe. To make sure Tom hasn’t gotten him.

And he’s going to look like the creature doing all this.

“Where’s Pastor Cleary?” Jonas says finally, words pinched and breathless.

“He’s-”

“We’ve been waiting for you, Jonas,” the voice he’s been looking for rings out beside them. Jonas makes his way unsteadily through the crowd, up to the Pastor, who looks at him with disdain.

“And I think _you_ should wait here for your father,” Pastor Cleary says, his hand coming to rest on Jonas’ shoulder. His spindly fingers tighten uncomfortably. “He has some things to straighten out with you.”

Jonas’ entire body goes rigid.

“No, I should be getting home. Sue is- Sue would-”

“You haven’t been home, Jonas. And you haven’t been with us. Your father and I talked.”

“I was-”

“With the Mueller boy? We assumed as much. However, I guess he’s a man now, it’s been so many years....” Pastor Cleary drifts off in a voice that seems far away, as if it was coming from all those years back. Jonas doesn’t respond, just stares hard at the dusty floorboards of the church. He doesn’t want to raise his head and see all the eyes staring back at him. He feels meek and powerless.

“You’re going to take us to him,” Pastor Cleary says slowly, and Jonas wants to crumble. He wants to melt into a puddle and sink into the earth, disintegrate in the soil and become worm food, but when he opens his eyes he is still very unfortunately human. When he doesn’t respond, Pastor Cleary’s grip tightens further. Jonas wonders just how much energy the willowy man is expending to squeeze hard enough that it almost hurts.

“No,” he says before he realizes he’s speaking, “No, I am not.” It’s almost as if Mitch’s voice has risen from his chest, booming and proud and strong. When he raises his head finally and leans back, glowering up at the pastor down the bridge of his nose, Jonas feels powerful. A kind of powerful he’s never felt, never been enabled or encouraged to feel. He’s always timid, meek, quiet- does as he’s told. Shuts his mouth. Never complains. Never disagrees. Head down. Eyes low.

Weak.

But not anymore. 

“Per-perhaps you don’t understand,” Pastor Cleary starts, noticeably shaken. Jonas bats his hand away with ease.

“I do. And I said no. You’re the ones who don’t understand. It’s not him, he’s not the one whose been doing all this. He wouldn’t-”

“The boy is-”

“No,” Jonas says shortly. “He hasn’t been here in years. He’s not responsible for any of this and I don’t care if you don’t believe me.” He pushes, perhaps with more force than necessary, to the front of the church to the locked doors. With a loud grunt he unlocks the doors and hauls them both open, night air pouring into the musty church and swirling the sounds of fear into the rafters. The night is clear and dark, air so cold it nearly freezes his breath, and his heart thunders with something other than fear. He takes a few steps, down the stone stairs of the church, and looks back up through the open doors where Sidney, the Pastor, and the townspeople stare at him as if he were insane as the monster itself.

“And I will _never_ take you to him.”

He says it with conviction- a real, true conviction he could never fake. 

There is nothing that can make him feel weak again. Not because Mitch, or Sidney, or even Pastor Cleary has seen his strength. It’s because he has.

Jonas made the decision to put himself in danger, to risk more than he ever had, to stalk into the woods with a murderer on the loose because of something he wanted. Something he believed in. Something- someone- that helped him hold his head high and eyes up. It may not be the bravery from fairytales, he may not have slain any dragons or fooled any witches- but perhaps that’s just heroism, because he feels something different. Brave. Strong. Stronger than before, and different because of that strength. 

And there is nothing that can take that away.

“Jonas.” Dean’s voice booms down the road, thick with condemnation.

There is _one_ thing that can take that away.

Jonas liquefies, his shoulders dropping as he stills, body cold from the heavy flood of anxiety pumping through his bloodstream.

“Dean,” his voice is once again meek in the icy winter air. His father’s scowl only seems to deepen as he grows closer. There’s no hello, no teary-eyed greeting as there was with Sue. There’s only coldness before Dean stops directly in front of Jonas, where he’s frozen to the earth.

“Do you think I’m stupid, Jonas?”

His heart starts to race.

“Wh-what?”

“Answer me,” Dean shouts, and Jonas flinches as he stalks closer. “Do you think I’m _stupid?”_

“No, n-no sir,” his voice is wavering.

“You know what I think? I think you’re lying to me.”

“No, Dean-”

“I know you’ve been lying. You haven’t been with the Clearys. They said they’ve barely seen you for months. And since you haven’t been home, with your family... you must have been with that boy. That abomination to God, that son of a mongrel and a whore-”

“He’s not- I wasn’t with him,” Jonas' hands are tight fists at his sides, his eyes staring hard at the ground.

“You liar. You absolute _disgrace,”_ Dean spits. “When will you learn, Jonas? How many times will I have to teach you the same lesson?” Jonas’ blood goes still and cold. His muscles tense, body going rigid as Dean stops right in front of him. He knows what comes next.

A hard, stinging slap against the side of his head. His cheek and temple burn ferociously as he chokes out a cry. He’s still glaring hard at the cobblestone beneath his feet, and he feels the stares of the townspeople from inside the church. He can’t help the shocked noise that escapes him as Dean lands another blow, this time to his opposite cheek. Jonas looks up, wide-eyed in fear and confusion, because something is different. Dean never hits him more than once.

And his face is never filled with so much pure, unfiltered rage. Dean looks as if he could murder Jonas, and the fear creeps up Jonas’ spine as he realizes he fully well could. Dean’s hand curls into the collar of his jacket, yanking him close as his other hand raises, balled into an intimidating fist and Jonas slams his eyes shut. What he anticipates never lands.

“If you fucking touch him one more time,” Mitch’s voice is surprisingly steady, low and threatening as he tightens his grip around Dean’s wrist, “I will rip your goddamn arm off.”

Before Dean can even react, Jonas hears a shriek from the church.

“It’s him!” Maddie cries, her voice shrill. “You monster!”

Dean’s fingers unfurl from Jonas' cloak as he yanks his arm away from Mitch’s grasp. Mitch lets him go easily, eyes narrowed and trained on him as he stumbles backwards a few steps towards the church, and Jonas notices something he’s never seen before.

There’s fear in Dean’s eyes.

The exact same fear that Jonas saw in Pastor Cleary’s and Maddie’s and the mens’ eyes, fear sparked by Mitch’s father. The same fear sparked by Mitch. Mitch stands behind Jonas, protectively close, hands possessively tight around his shoulder. Jonas jumps as the point of Mitch’s long nails bites into his skin from above the fabric of his shirt. He can't bear to turn around and face those glowing eyes and pointed teeth which probably look so ferocious to the villagers. Under the fear, there's a pang of jealousy, because he was once the only person Mitch would let see his cursed state.

“What’re you doing?” Jonas hisses, his chest starting to burn, “Get back. Get back into the woods-”

“You left,” the pain is evident under the thin veil of evenness in Mitch’s voice, and Jonas shakes his head, clutching Mitch’s thick forearm.

“I had to. I had to check on Sidney, I had to tell them it wasn’t you,” he whispers, Mitch’s grip tightening around him further. Jonas finally lets himself glance up. Mitch's large teeth glint under the moon’s glow, shining in tandem with the whites of his blown-open eyes. 

“But you led him right to us. Wrong again, Jonas,” Dean is still inching away slightly, but with his rifle drawn and resting on his bicep as he squints one eye, aiming. His wrists seem to tremble slightly as he adjusts his grip and raises the barrel towards Mitch. “I ought to blow your skull to pieces, you mutt.”

Everything seems to slow. Jonas opens his mouth, fighting against Mitch’s tight grasp to step in front of him and block at least part of Dean’s shot. Dean’s shoulders even seem to move at a fraction of usual time, raising slowly as he positions the gun on his arm, bringing his elbow up and squeezing his shut eye tighter still. Jonas inhales, a deep breath with every intention as being released as screams, telling Dean to stop, not to shoot, not to hurt him, but he goes silent instead.

It emerges from the woods behind the church. Jonas can see it just over Dean’s shoulder, and his breath stops.

This creature, on two legs but fully devoid of humanity, lopes from the forest with a crooked but fluid gait. The monster is covered entirely by thick, dark fur matted into clumps by dirt and blood, long scars of enflamed pink skin breaking through its coat. Its muzzle is pulled back over its teeth, and Jonas can see the frothy spit at the edges of its maw, illuminated slightly yellow in the reflection of the glow from its eyes.

Its stride is almost a limp but not quite, even and slow but that just noticeable dropping of his enormous shoulder with every step causing it to look barely but obviously labored. Almost as if it has never walked on two legs and is learning, and like an untrained fawn is experimentally fighting its way to movement.

Or rather, Jonas theorizes, it’s losing whatever small semblance of human self it had and is devolving slowly, losing the ability to walk on two legs as its mind begins to deteriorate along with its scarred, matted, limping body. He can't fathom that this was once human, or anything even near human for that matter. 

The creature walks, moving in and out of the shadows of the spindly bare branches which reach up and over the church like skeletal fingers. It's illuminated under the light of the moon then disappears into the shadow again, making its way towards them. Jonas isn’t sure if it’s moving so painfully slowly or his mind is taking moments to catch up, to process everything that happens as he hears the sound of Dean cocking his gun and the low rumble begins to emanate from Mitch’s chest. He’s still fighting, trying to wriggle free of Mitch’s grasp and protect him with what little ability he has to do so as he watches the beast slinks around the corner of the church. 

The villagers peeking through the open door fall back and crash down like rows of dominoes as the creature passes. The beast, seemingly disinterested in the townspeople tucked inside the church, its vision zeroed on the group of men in the road, stalks on. It drops to all fours, moving fluidly towards them, and Mitch freezes next to Jonas. His grip tightens, the edge of his claws surely puncturing the fabric of Jonas’ shirt and perhaps even sinking into his skin, but Jonas can’t feel anything.

He feels numbness aside from the painful, overwhelming fear pounding in his chest, watching the creatures shoulder blades rise and fall with every step, its head low and haunches high.

Predatory.

Jonas’ eyes are still locked on the beast as it grows so close he can hear the panting breaths, ragged and angry, push from the monster’s flared nostrils. Out of the corner of his eye he sees Dean’s face change, flickering from determination to anger to confusion and finally into realization, face pale and drawn in fear as the monster’s paw crunches through the frost on the ground.

He spins around and shoots aimlessly, hand shaking violently against the rifle. The cobblestone in front of the beast’s foot explodes from the shot, and then silence. In a way so human it makes Jonas sick, the creature stares down at the shattered brick then looks up at Dean slowly. It’s grinning. With a pitch it’s on 2 legs again, even more unsteady up close, towering over Dean with its chest out.

Jonas should have assumed he would be so large, being Mitch’s father and all, but not this. Not this horrific, enormous creature that makes him question if every ghost story, every cautionary wives’ tale, every biblical epic that has kept him awake at night is true.

Because if a creature like Tom can exist, the devil must be real too. That is, if Tom isn’t the devil himself. He very well could be, standing in front of Dean with those glowing yellow eyes and matted fur, so large and imposing the moon disappears behind his shoulder, throwing Dean into an inky black shadow. He’s more frightening than any biblical characterization of Satan, far scarier than any interpretation of evil incarnate. Jonas reasons that must be because it’s not truly in any human’s imaginative capacity to create something as horrific as this, that no level of perversion or insanity could have crafted anything comparable to the ungodly, heinous thing that stands before them and raises its arm to strike.

Jonas feels as if he’s falling, his eyes going dark and feet leaving the ground as Tom strikes Dean, eliciting the most sickening crack and a howl. The howl isn’t Tom, though, it’s Dean screaming, and Jonas feels a lightness wash over his head slowly.

His head lulls to the side and shockingly, into Mitch’s chest. He looks up, startled as he realizes Mitch is carrying him, cradling him into his chest like a bride and running towards the church.

“Mitch, what’re you-” he croaks, unable to finish.

“Your fuckin’ dad’ll be his chew toy for now. We got maybe 30 seconds to get you inside and away from him. Close the fucking doors, lock ‘em, barricade ‘em, and _do not fucking come out until it’s quiet.”_

Jonas’ world is spinning. The doors to the church are flung open by the push of Mitch’s shoulder, and every eye in the church is on them instantly. 

“Seriously, you idiot- never forgiving you,” Sidney hisses as Jonas is placed on his feet. She glues herself to his side immediately. Jonas pulls back as Sidney grips his shoulder, but he isn’t looking at her. He’s staring at Mitch, who stares back down with a face that could kill him right there because it’s so full of love and sorrow and fright. Mitch raises his eyes to the crowd, most of whom shuffle back as a cautious murmur fills the church.

But Maddie stands her ground at the front of the congregation, fists shaking at her sides and eyes slits.

“You heathens are not welcome here,” she hisses. Mitch snorts.

“Yeah, I ain’t stayin,’” Mitch says, looking back out the door at where Tom is crouched over his kill. Jonas is nearly ill, looking out there at what used to be Dean. Sue is going to be devastated.

“And neither is he,” she points at Jonas with a trembling hand. Mitch takes a threatening step towards her and she jumps, but remains in her place, staring up at him defiantly.

“Listen to me. If you want, I can just take Joey away from here and let that motherfucker kill every last one of you. You want that?” Mitch is serious, Jonas realizes, and he clings to Sidney a bit tighter. Mitch raises his voice, “You _want_ that, Cleary?” 

“No.” She spits back icily, still staring him down.

“Didn’t fuckin’ think so.” He turns on his heel, jaw set tightly and shoulders rigid as he brushes past Jonas towards the door.

“Wait,” Jonas cries, latching onto his arm, “You can’t do this. Please don’t do this. Mitch, you can’t- I won’t- what if-”

“It’s gonna be okay,” Mitch says quietly, reaching up to cradle Jonas’ face, turning to stare down at him with the same look he had the first day they met, when they said goodbye at the gates of Sellwood. “Lock, barricade, and do not open until it’s quiet. Promise?”

Jonas can’t respond verbally, so he just chokes out a noise.

“Good,” Mitch hums, stroking Jonas’ ear. He lifts his eyes up and out the doors, where Tom has tired of Dean and is staring at the church, a rumbling growl filling the air. Mitch looks back down at Jonas once, eyes desperate. “It’s gonna be okay,” he repeats, but Jonas’ blood only goes icy at his next words. 

“No matter what happens to me, you’re gonna be okay.”

Mitch is gone and the doors are slammed behind him before Jonas can even process what he’s said. His heart starts to swell with panic as he’s pulled away, men setting heavy wooden boards into the locks, pushing pews and benches against the doors and scrambling away as Jonas collapses into the corner with Sidney.

“Jojo, hey, hey,” she’s cooing, trying to quiet his breaths which he can feel are pitching jaggedly in and out of his lungs so fast his eyes are going dark, but nothing is working. She pulls him into a hug and lets him quake as the voices in the church settle, the congregation straining to hear what’s happening outside.

“So that’s him, huh? That’s the guy?” Sid says, swaying slowly, trying to rock him into calmness. He wishes it was working.

“Yeah,” he chokes.

“Hm.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” Jonas croaks, looking up at her. She shrugs.

“It means he looks like he eats people.”

“Sid, please-”

“Which, like, I guess is a good thing right now.” A thunderous snarl and Mitch’s voice from outside have Jonas reeling, sitting up immediately and trying to go for the door before Sidney pulls him back.

“Listen, listen, he doesn’t sound hurt,” she goads, rubbing his arm gently. Jonas squeezes his eyes tight and tries to fight the ringing in his ears. She’s right, but it doesn’t make him feel any better. Mitch sounds angry, so incredibly violently enraged that it makes Jonas shudder to think he’s capable of such fury. 

And then the sounds of gnashing teeth and Jonas falls apart, sobbing into his hands as Sidney wraps him tighter. He can’t bear to listen to it and he can’t bear to stop, caught between needing to know what is happening and never _wanting_ to know. The night is quiet, no wind or storms like the past few days, and Jonas can hear _everything_.

Every crack of bone, every strike, every bite and yowl and snarl. He hears the dirt turning up beneath their feet, the scrape of claws on cobblestone, and the beast’s heavy breaths puff into clouds in the cold night air. He can still hear Mitch grunting, growling, screaming indiscernible words at the monster and it’s good- he knows Mitch is still fighting. It’s also terrible. He’s wrapped in fear, curled in on himself listening to the battle outside before a lone voice pipes up from inside the church.

“It’s all your fault, Jonas.”

“Shut the hell up, Maddie,” Sidney spits, tightening her protective grip, but Jonas raises his head. He wipes the tears away quickly, staring up at Madison who glares back, her hands folded in prayer. Jonas feels something snap, watching Maddie with her upward gaze, whispering words to God beneath her breath as the sounds of the fight outside continue.

“Don’t try to quiet me,” she says without looking, “Jonas was the one who led them both here.”

“What did you say?” Jonas says suddenly, his voice surprisingly dark as he clambers to his feet.

“You heard me. It’s all. Your. Fau-”

“No, Maddie, it’s your fault.” He growls. Maddie’s eyes blow open. “And your father’s fault. And every single one of you in here, it’s your faults. It’s ALL your faults.You blame Mitch for something he didn’t do, you all thought because his father was evil he would be, too. But he isn’t. He never was. He should be, he has every right to hate you and want you all dead for the way you treated him, he should be the one burning houses and killing livestock but he isn't. Because he isn't evil. But still, you all pushed him away. You see that, right? It’s right there in front of you but none of you will look at it.”

“He tried to kill a man, Jonas, don’t be such a fool,” Maddie scoffs. Jonas grits his teeth harder.

“And right now, he’s outside trying to kill a monster. For all of you. You’ll never understand, though, will you? You’re just as evil as Tom, as the monster.”

“Jonas,” Sidney says, her voice quiet.

“You all would let him fight for you but you still fear him, still think he’s- he’s-”

“Jonas, please,” Sidney tries again meekly. Jonas is close to Maddie now, but he raises his eyes to the church.

“You’d even shun his mother, the woman who lost two husbands and two sons, you’d let her grieve all alone. You all let her suffer, you all cause her to suffer. You don’t care, none of you _care!_ You all let them suffer! And you’d all kill him if you got the chance! Won’t you? None of you will be able to tell me you won’t try to kill him, even after Tom is gone, even after you’re all safe you just can’t let him _live!”_

“Jonas!” Sidney shouts, and finally he whirls around to face her.

“What?” he says back sharply, then his shoulders fall at the look in her eyes. They flicker over his face anxiously.

“Listen,” she squeaks, so he does.

And it’s silent. No sounds outside the church, no gnashing, no cracking, no howling. Just silence. Jonas throws himself at the door, pulling the pews away with adrenaline-fueled strength and pushing the old wooden boards away from the locks, his chest heaving. The heavy wooden doors feel impossibly light under his hands as he throws them open and stumbles down the stone stairs, taking a few hurried steps into the grass before stopping.

There in the road, illuminated only slightly by the dim light of the church lanterns burning low on oil, are two figures. One a crumpled pile, blackness seeping from its torn body onto the cobblestone, motionless in the darkness. The other is hunched on his hands and knees, back falling violently with heavy breaths, tail limp between his legs and his head hung between his shoulders.

Every nerve in Jonas’ body feels alive, singing, vibrating, and he could cry. He does, putting a hand over his mouth, to conceal what he’s surprised to find is a smile on his lips. Because maybe the villagers will still try to kill Mitch. Maybe they’ll have to go on the run. Maybe they’ll have to leave, leave behind their mothers and homes and memories, but they’ll be together. For the first time it feels real. The things Mitch promised, the dreams he had, the future he envisioned- it's like he could reach out and touch them.

“Mitch,” Jonas says shakily, voice wet and broken but hopeful. The figure pulls back onto his knees, head still hung to his chest and body still shaking.

Jonas can hear a murmuring crowd forming at the door, pushing to see, one of the villagers bumping the lantern hanging from the doorjamb as the figure struggles to his feet.  The lantern falls to the earth and shatters against the frozen ground, causing the remaining oil to explode into a small fire ball, lighting up the road for a fraction of a second.

And in that fraction of a second, Jonas’ world ends, because the figure raises its head and opens its glowing yellow eyes, ears pricked up as its lip pulls back over its spittle soaked muzzle to reveal jagged teeth stained dark with blood.

Tom takes one loping step towards the church, away from the limp body of his son.

But Jonas doesn’t move. It’s not that he can’t, because the muscles in his legs ache to turn back and run into the church to try and find momentary cover before inevitable death. He doesn’t move because he doesn’t want to. He watches, unfeeling, as Tom takes another labored step, injured and mangled but still as dangerous as ever. There’s no fear in his heart, no lump in his throat, no ringing in his ears as Tom’s eyes zero in on him and his steps pick up.

Jonas doesn’t look back at Mitch on the ground, that he can’t do. He can’t bear to see if Mitch is still in on piece or multiple, if he can still recognize Mitch’s face, or if the man he loves is split down the middle with his heart ripped out.

And judging by all the blood gathering on the cold ground, Jonas knows at least one of the terrible scenes he’s imagined must be true. He pulls his cloak tighter around himself, watching Tom start to break into a stride towards him, falling onto all fours and quickening his pace.

Jonas doesn’t _want_ to die, necessarily. 

He just doesn’t want to be without Mitch. Selfishly, he forgets all the people in the church watching, even Sidney, who he can hear shrieking behind him. There’s so much screaming, he realizes suddenly, that it’s nearly deafening. Wailing, sobbing, screaming- but over it all he can hear the growl ripping from Tom’s chest. It fills him with so much anger he collapses onto his knees, pushing his hands deeper into the pockets of his cloak and curling it around himself, pressing his face into the collar. It still smells like Mitch’s house, and he sighs dreamily.

Tom is almost upon him and the screams are growing louder. He hears his claws crunch into the frozen earth with each powerful step that propels his mangled body forward. Mitch did a number on him, he’s bloodied and torn and bitten and surely weaker, but not weak enough to stop. Jonas swallows, because Mitch tried so hard. He fought with everything he had and still, still....

Still Tom powers towards him. Still Jonas can hear the panting which sprays blood-laden spit onto the ground, the creak and crack of Tom’s old tired joints as he careens towards Jonas, still.

But Mitch doesn’t lose. Jonas knows that. And Jonas isn’t going to let that happen.

A few things happen simultaneously. Tom barrels into him, chest throwing him flat onto the ground as he plants his massive hand over Jonas’ shoulders. He howls, his eyes psychotic and unhinged as he lunges, mouth agape and teeth gleaming under the dim light of the lone lantern. Jonas’ hand darts out of his pocket.

Sidney is screaming from inside, undoubtedly being held back by more than one of the Baybury villagers, kicking and trying to fight away from them. Jonas’ breath is still even as Tom’s spit drips onto his forehead, teeth pressed into the edge of his temple and around his skull, his head almost entirely in Tom’s mouth.

But the beast doesn’t move.

Instead, he chokes, his massive shoulders trembling as Jonas twists the stake further into Tom’s chest. He can feel Tom’s claws digging into the flesh of his shoulder but there’s no purpose to it, no malice. It’s more of a body reaction, muscles tightening as they begin to fail. With every ounce of strength he pushes against the weapon Mitch had made for him, driving it ever deeper as he feels Tom’s muscle give way to the sharp end. He can feel a pulse through the soaked wood, fast but slowing rapidly, and he pushes further.

The feeling of hot, thick blood running down his hand in rivulets is surreal, stark in contrast to freezing ground against the back of his neck. He half expects Tom’s jaws to snap around him, end him, but they don’t. Instead, the soft whistle of his final breath being pushed from his lungs fills Jonas’ ears and with a heavy, unceremonious thud he falls, just beside Jonas, face-down onto the frozen grass. Tom’s enormous torso pins Jonas down, but Jonas doesn’t think he could muster up the energy to move even if he were free to do so. His senses burn, tired but alert, and there's so much. The cold of the frozen earth on his back. The warmth of Tom's blood on his hands. The light from Tom's open, still-glowing eyes, staring into the side of Jonas' face without seeing. The dark, the overwhelming and consuming darkness of the woods, the black sky dotted with stars, the heavy darkness in his chest.

And for a moment, it’s all silent again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> as much as i hate to say this, i don't have a good idea of when i'll finish the final chapter!! and to anyone who waited for this chapter- thanks SO MUCH for your patience!!
> 
> thank you always always for reading!

**Author's Note:**

> thank you so much for reading!! hopefully you know how happy it makes me!:)
> 
> i have no update schedule but i will try and get chapter out as soon as i possibly can! I expect it to be about 5 chapters but i'm not totally sure just yet


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